


Aziraphale’s Wandering Library

by Neverwaswise



Category: Good Omens (TV), Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types
Genre: Aziraphale is a wizard, But also, But its an act of love because I adore both of these shows, Crowley is a nanny, Curses, Found Family, Howl’s Moving Castle AU, I know, Love at First Sight, Mutual Pining, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Parent!Crowley, Slow Burn, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), also, love them so much, not exactly the same plot as Howl’s Moving Castle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:08:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverwaswise/pseuds/Neverwaswise
Summary: Crowley is a simple nanny with a very flash car and no friends. He doesn’t mind that though. He understands he is not the sort of person people make friends with.But one day he meets a very unusual person and finds himself hip deep in trouble he never wanted anything to do with.But he’s in it anyway.At least the scenery is gorgeous.





	1. Nanny’s Autumn Assignation

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This was an idea that threw me into full wakefulness in the middle of the night, and I haven’t been able to leave alone since.
> 
> Hope you like it! Feel free to comment.
> 
> And if you want to, you can come visit with me on  tumblr! 

Crowley needed a drink.

Not because the day had been terribly trying. Honestly, it had been an overall pleasant enough day. He was wearing his favorite heels and hadn’t formed any blisters yet. Warlock had successfully followed Crowley’s advice on exactly how to set the neighborhood bully’s hair on fire and gotten away with no one aware he’d had a hand in it at all. And Crowley had just finished berating the begonias in the back garden into finally pulling their weight.

The drink was because it was coming on dinner time and Warlock wanted to go for a drive again.

“Please, Nanny,” Warlock whined masterfully. Warlock was masterful because Crowley had taught him how to whine at his teachers to get what he wanted. How it hadn’t occurred to him that instruction might backfire, he really had no idea.

“Its a bit cold out for it, dear,” Crowley said, wandering over to the liquor cabinet.

“But its autumn,” Warlock said, slumping his arms and shoulders in a show of true dejection, “It is going to be cold until the end of time now because its almost winter!”

“Mm,” Crowley hummed, suddenly craving some hot chocolate with vodka, “Perhaps tomorrow night, dear. Its just so cold.”

Warlock sighed and went over to throw himself slouchfully into a huge recliner, the foot rest slamming out loudly with the force of his sitting, exactly how Crowley had taught him. Crowley glanced over at him proudly. Warlock was a wonderful boy of eleven now, as petulant and spoiled as Crowley had been sure to raise him. And Crowley loved him so much it made his heart feel like it was breaking whenever he accidentally let himself think about it.

The evening might be cold, but the sun wouldn’t set for more than three hours. Plenty of time for a leisurely drive through the countryside and Warlock really had done a lovely job with his little practice of arson today. And the business with Warlock’s parents being rubbish at being parents always wiggled into Warlock’s mind and mood the most in the evenings when it was just the two of them at dinner. A distraction was always a relief for both of them towards the end of the day.

Crowley loved his boy, but the evenings always felt a bit… cold, even in the summer, as if the sun never could quite burn bright enough to last through the whole day. And Crowley could not figure out what was missing.

So he drank.

Crowley sighed and pulled the vodka down from the cabinet, “Let me get something warm in a thermos and we can go.”

Warlock mimicked Crowley’s sigh almost exactly and slumped off the chair. Crowley reached out an arm as Warlock knocked his forehead against her rib cage, “Thank you, Nanny.”

“Now, what did I tell you about thanking people,” Crowley said, dragging Warlock with him in a half hug as he wandered into the kitchen to get the kettle going.

“That they should be thanking me for existing,” Warlock said, “I love you, Nanny.”

Crowley swallowed whatever the hell was suddenly in his throat and squeezed Warlock a little harder before dropping a kiss on his dark hair and letting go, “I love you too, you little hellion. Now go get your shoes on and grab our warm things while I make us cocoa.”

Warlock sighed and slumped toward the front door obediently.

The heat was on full and the countryside was slipping by, beautiful as a bleakly cold waste could be. Crowley sat in the passenger seat, the warmth of his cocoa sitting comfortably in his belly, the thermos and the last of the heat in it gripped in his palms.

Warlock carefully brought the Bentley up the rise and down into the next little valley. The shadow of the clouds threw the yellowing grassland towards shades of grey, the waves and waves of tall florets shivering in the wind that whistled shrilly past the glass of the windows.

“Easy with the gears going down, my dear. Just let it coast a bit,” Crowley said softly, still looking out the window.

Warlock sighed but he could see the focus in his expression as he followed her instructions.

The boy was eleven now, lanky enough to reach all of the pedals, and the only person Crowley would ever consider leaving his vehicle to. Which meant that the boy needed to build a bond with the vehicle as soon as possible. That was why they were having these lessons. And while the first few trips had been painfully harrowing for all involved, their drives brought a kind of peace to Crowley these days. Seeing Warlock and the Bentley working together was painful for an entirely different reason now. Crowley sometimes watched the boy, and all he could see was the great man Warlock would become, whether or not Crowley had ever been anything close to a decent nanny. Warlock was a very very good boy and would be wonderful despite Crowley. Without Crowley.

Because everyone involved knew that very soon, Warlock’s parents would realize Warlock’s age and the complete uselessness of Crowley’s role. And then… and then that would be that.

Crowley was aware that, besides Warlock, he had no one in the world he cared about. Or who cared about him. And he was not expecting that to ever change. Crowley knew he was a… well not the sort of person who added much to other people’s lives.

That was how it had always been. Not something to waste time being sad about. Especially not when alcohol was a thing.

And for now, Warlock still needed his nanny.

So they drove the empty roads of the wastes in the evenings. And did not talk about any of that.

Sure there were some odd rumors about what was wandering around out here, but neither of them had ever seen so much as a wild dog.

So they drove on, and discussed plans for what to do about Warlock’s physics teacher, the absolute tyrant.

“Yes, you could go that route, dear. Such an excellent idea. Though, I think it might work better if you did it with electrocution instead of-”

Crowley stopped, sat up a bit in his seat.

There was something on the road.

“Go slowly here,” Crowley said.

Warlock was already slowing the car, “Do I stop?”

Crowley studied the pale figure, standing bundled in a long, heavy coat that fluttered in the wind. The light of the setting sun was a brilliant riot of orange and pink behind the figure. His oddly out of date coat was a light cream color, the lapels up about his ears in an attempt to protect them from the wind and obscuring his features. A pair of spectacles caught the light.

Crowley thought the whole effect was effortlessly dashing and he narrowed his eyes in instant dislike.

“Definitely not,” Crowley said, “We must never help people who are stupid enough to get themselves into bad situations.”

Warlock glanced over at him before pulling at the gear shift and slowing the car to a stop right beside the man.

Crowley scowled at Warlock as the boy rolled down his window, letting in a vicious gust of cold air.

“Hey, mister,” Warlock called out, “You are dumb as a bag of rocks.”

Crowley smiled. If they were stopping to ridicule the man, that was an entirely different thing.

“Oh,” said the man, as if he had only just realized they’d rolled up, “Oh, hello, there. What, ah, good evening.”

Warlock looked around the hills a bit and then said, “What are you doing out here?”

“Ah, that’s…well, hard to explain, I think,” the man replied.

Warlock turned to Crowley, “Nanny, I think we need to help him. He doesn’t sound ok.”

Crowley was about to open his mouth to respond but Warlock cut him off.

“And yes, we both know what you say about helping people. But we both know you’re rubbish at actually not helping people.”

Crowley glared at him.

“I know about the Laurence’s stove,” Warlock said.

Crowley sighed, no idea at all how Warlock knew about that one. But Warlock would have mentioned the bit with little Ishya’s torn coat if he knew about it, so there was that. Crowley still had some hold on his reputation.

“Fine,” Crowley finally said, “Scramble into the back, my boy.”

Once Warlock had relinquished the driver’s seat, Crowley slid across and startled the man when he said, “Climb in then before you catch your death.”

“Oh, hello,” the man said, “There really isn’t a need to-”

“Didn’t ask if there was,” Crowley said, “Get in so that we can move along. We have business to get to.”

“Oh, well,” the man’s gloved hands wrung each other, “In that case, I… thank you.”

Finally, the lunatic was shuffling to the other side of the car and pulling open the door. Crowley had already rolled up the window, shivering miserably as the man eased himself into the passenger seat.

“Well,” the man sighed as he closed the door, obviously basking in what little warmth remained in the vehicle, “That was very kind of you. Thank you very much for the thoughtfulness.”

Crowley gave him a look as he effortlessly got the Bentley going again, “It wasn’t kind and there wasn’t a single thought put into it. We’re dropping you off at the edge of town and you’ll be on your own from there.”

The man appeared a bit flustered behind his fogging glasses. He was a round man with wispy blond hair and very rosey cheeks. He didn’t seem to be shivering but Crowley had often been chilled to the bone and not shivered much either, so that didn’t mean much.

“There’s cocoa in the thermos there,” Crowley finally said, nodding to the cup holder.

The man, obviously unable to see, removed his glasses and placed them in his pocket before spying the thermos and giving a please little gasp.

The thermos was picked up and Crowley heard the soft sounds of the man taking a long drink. Then there was a satisfied sigh, “Oh, yes, thank you. That’s just what I needed. You make a delicious cocoa.”

Crowley didn’t respond but Warlock leaned forward in the back seat, “I’m Warlock, Destroyer of Kings.”

The man blinked back at Warlock for a moment before reaching out to shake his hand, “Pleased to meet you, Warlock. I am Mr. Fell.”

“You don’t have a first name?”

“Its not really,” Mr. Fell stammered, “I don’t like my first name very much of late. I think your title is very dashing. Perhaps I should acquire one myself. Oh, thank you for reminding me of my manners, I forgot to introduce myself to your mother,” the man turned and addressed the side of Crowley’s head, “I am Mr. Fell, a pleasure to meet you.”

Crowley reached out a hand without looking at him, but when Mr. Fell failed to grasp his hand, he looked over.

Mr. Fell was staring at him. Full wide eyed, open mouthed staring.

“Oi,” Crowley barked, “Don’t get a single idea. I will leave you on the side of the road we found you on.”

Mr. Fell seemed to lurch back into full brain function, clearing his throat and pulling his hand back to run it down the lapel of his old fashioned coat, “My apologies. That wasn’t what it appeared to be. You just look a lot like a good friend of mine is all. Apologies. Won’t happen again.”

Crowley looked back at the road, “Sure.”

Mr. Fell took another sip of the cocoa, gave another appreciative hum and said, “You have a very accomplished son, driving so well so soon.”

Crowley glanced at Mr. Fell, thawing a bit. He was shamelessly weak to flattery. Especially in regards to his charge.

“He isn’t my son,” Crowley said, “I am his nanny. Ms. Ashtoreth.”

Mr. Fell’s smile held, bright as it had been from its first appearance, “Well it is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Ashtoreth. And young Warlock handled this astonishing vehicle as if he were born to it. I am sure you are very proud.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” Crowley replied.

“Do you have any interest in wines? I know of a merchant just a town over that has a most deliciously varied stock, and so far they have all been delightful.”

Crowley glanced over at him, “I’ve been known to keep the odd bottle on hand.”

Mr. Fell paused for a moment at the reluctant response, as if Crowley had said something far more telling than he actually had. Then, Crowley was suddenly being subjected to the most magnificently pleased smile he had ever seen. He didn’t look back at the road for a long moment as Mr. Fell plucked his glasses from his nose and tucked them away in his inside coat pocket.

“Well, let me suggest the Kempintyne just next to the Redfish Inn in Fellbury. I’ve never had a better wine selection than their menu. All about taste, rather than only cost, that business. So delightful. And their pies aren’t anything to slouch at either, if you go in for sweets.”

Crowley made a vague noise to mean, “No, not into sweets much.”

The noise seemed to please Mr. Fell even further because that smile hit Crowley again like an oak beam and then he was careening into the topic of plays. And Crowley, not having had much time for attending plays with his current job, was listening attentively despite himself. He had always enjoyed the theatre. Plays. Music. All of it. And Mr. Fell seemed to know of several performances that sounded very enticing.

Warlock was suspiciously quiet for the rest of the drive, seemingly content to let Nanny and Mr. Fell chatter along for the rest of the drive back to town, the chill that had formed around Nanny with the man’s appearance dissipating with surprising speed as Mr. Fell drew her out into conversation with more ease than Warlock had ever seen before. Nanny was a notoriously unfriendly person unless she was trying to get someone to do something foolish for her and Warlock’s amusement.

But Warlock knew, instinctively, that something else was happening here. Something new.

Crowley slipped into his night dress with a pleased sigh. The cool silk against his skin was a balm after a particularly strange day. They’d dropped the odd man off at the edge of town, as they’d warned him. Crowley had taken a side route so that the edge of town was also about half a mile from an inn, but no one needed to know that.

Plucking his warm quilted robe from the hook behind his bedroom door, Crowley stalked across his room to the cup of wine sitting on his bedside table. He draped his robe about his shoulders and left it to hang there as he picking up the wine and turned to the tall windowed doors the led out to the balcony. Most nights he left the curtains drawn to keep out the cold, but the stars were so bright tonight, and his eyes ached to look up at them.

He wished the chill of fall hadn’t come swooping so quickly from the mountaintops this year, because once he’d finished this glass of wine, he was going to go out there and look up at the stars in his nightgown, miserably cold wind or not. And if the later hours found him shivering miserably to warm himself in his bed, so be it. Warlock was in bed and the rest of the house was empty until morning. No one needed him to be fully functional tonight. He could relax. And reach into that hollow place inside him and just… ache.

It was a bit like a good cry. Left him feeling numb for a few days after.

With the cold coming off the nearby glass in waves, Crowley was reminded of the heat that had been inside the Bentley. The comfort or Warlock so near to hand. And the curious puzzle that was the man they’d found on the side of the road.

Mr. Fell.

He was definitely an odd duck. Despite careful fishing for information, he still had no idea what the man had been doing out there, or how he’d gotten there. Perhaps he was someone’s insane relative, dropped off like an unwanted cat. Though he hadn’t seemed odd. No more than most people Crowley had met. But he had been…Honestly Crowley wasn’t sure what he had been, but it had been difficult to stop speaking to him, once they’d got going, even though half the time it had felt as though they were arguing rather than having a conversation. And all the while, Crowley had been glancing at him across the seat from behind his driving glasses. And each time it had felt odd. Looking over at that wide, twinkle eyed smile hadbeen, fucking hell, it had been like staring at the sun.

Crowleyclacked his empty glass down on the table with a groan.

“Bloody fucking hell, it was just a conversation. Barely that. Get it together.”

Then he shoved his way through the balcony doors, fleeing to the night.

The cold slammed into him and, for a moment, pulled out all thoughts from his mind as it flew away with all of the heat in his body. He flinched and actually wriggled his arms into the sleeves of the robe. He cursed as he struggled to wrap the robe around his body, his teeth already chattering. He was about to enact a strategic retreat when he finally got it together. Then he was standing there, teeth definitely still chattering and fingers most decidedly numb.

Staring up at the stars and wondering why they always made him feel as if there was a weight pressing down on his chest.

Several days later, Crowley was walking Warlock up the steps to the posh little private academy his parents had signed him up for a year prior. It was a boldly embellished dark granite thing with two huge snarling dogs perched on pedestals to either side of the steps. Warlock had a ball he was throwing up into the air as high as he could, only absently attempting to manage the steps without falling on his face. Crowley walked beside him, watching from behind his tinted glasses to see how that turned out.

The day was bright and Crowley was nursing the last wisps of a hangover. He had some things to get to today. Firstly, he had a few cans of red paint in the trunk of the Bentley he planned to find an amusing use for by the end of the morning. Then he thought the new rose seedling he had ordered should have arrived at the post office by now. He had heard about the species of deep purple rose from the florist in town and had ordered one immediately. He thought the exotic thing should give the other roses in his collection something to aspire to. They’d been slouching on their blooms quite a bit since the season had gone to fall.

Surprisingly, Warlock made his way to the top of the steps without the shedding of blood and darted into the school with an absentminded, “G’day, Nanny!”

Crowley turned about and went back down the steps, darting with vague nods past the governesses and nannies delivering their own charges into the crisp hands of the academy.

In very little time, he was in the Bentley and making his way through the streets of the town at a reckless pace. The town was preparing for its annual fall carnival. Crowley usually enjoyed the fall Carnival for its macabre themes and the warm alcoholic beverages that could be bought at every other stall. But this year, their country was about to tip itself and half its neighbors into a war that was more about which wealthy bastard got to gain further wealth over the others than about anything worth dying over and the festive bannersbursting out of every building just settled a surly annoyance into his belly.

Hence the red paint. He knew where they printed most of the war propaganda in this neighborhood and he had a good guess where they were keeping their completed pamphlets at the moment.

He pulled off the road in front of a little bakery and exited the Bentley. He planned to scope out the place before changing out of his nanny clothes and coming back around with the paint.

But as he was sauntering casually down the back alley behind the print shop, he also walked right into a policeman leaning against a wall behind a tall stack of crates.

“Well, hello there, kitten,” he said, pushing away from the wall with a grin, immediately crowding into Crowley’s space, “Have you gotten lost?”

Crowley sidled aside to get his space back and looked the man up and down. He was tall and young and wide in the shoulders.

“No,” Crowley said, “I know exactly where I am. No assistance needed.”

“Oh, I think you need exactly the sort of assistance I’ve got,” the man said, taking a few steps toward Crowley that Crowley was quick to match with a step back.

“No, I am not interested,” Crowley said simply, his voice flat.

“Dressed like that? Sweetie, we both know you’re lying.”

Crowley force a sneer onto his face as he took another step back. He was wearing clothing perfectly appropriate for a nanny. Knee length skirt. Blouse buttoned up to the scarf tied about her neck. Thick wool coat buttoned over top of the lot of it. Not that it mattered what she was wearing. People like this didn’t let something like clothing choices stop them.

This had happened to Crowley a few times in his life. So far he’d been lucky to slip free before things became dire. And every time it was just as terrifying.

He was just about to make a run for it, heels or no, when he heard a sound behind him, but before he could fully turn to find the source, a large hand closed over his wrist and deftly tugged him forward.

He slammed into a wide chest.

His recoiling was a full body movement. A fierce, instinctive, revolted fleeing from a predator. But the grip on his wrist was painfully strong and tightened carelessly around the bones there.

“Hey, I’m trying to pay you a compliment and show you a good time,” the young man did not sound half as friendly now, “Woman like you should be grateful. All this fear has your color up. You look very lovely now.”

“Let me go,” Crowley said, trying to tear his arm free, despite the pain. His heart was pounding too hard now for him to really feel it now, “Let me go or I’ll scream.”

The man laughed and leaned in a bit to say something, but then there was a gentle tug on Crowley’s sleeve. So gentle he almost missed it.

“Ah, there you are, dear. Sorry I made you wait.”

Heart so far up his throat it was practically on his tongue, Crowley startled hard at the sudden voice beside him. His head whipped to the side to stare directly into a familiar hazel eyed, rosy cheeked face. And that smile. He was too afraid to feel the full warmth of it now, but he felt some of it all the same.

“Ah, I-” Crowley began.

“Hey, the lady and I were just talking. Mind your own business,” the policeman snapped over him.

Crowley watched Mr. Fell’s expression grow terribly cold as he shifted his attention to the bastard.

“Is this scoundrel bothering you?” He asked Crowley, in a quiet voice that was chillingly calm. Very different from the awkward warmth and softness it had carried in the Bentley.

“Definitely,” Crowley managed.

“That’s not true,” the policeman said with a growl, “She met me here. Is she your wife, because she’s just a-”

“That’s enough lines for you,” Mr. Fell snapped.

And then he lifted a hand. And carefully, deliberately moved his fingers.

“Mmhm,” Mr. Fell said to the man who’s face had gone very slack suddenly, “Oh, that’s quite…yes, I think you’d better hurry to the station and confess to all of that. And then, if you ever touch anyone who doesn’t want to be touched by you, one of your bones will break. Into very little pieces, I imagine.”

The policeman made a sort of whistling noise in his throat in answer.

Mr. Fell gave a little smile and then crooked a finger, “Off you go, now.”

Crowley watched as the man turned on his heel and marched quickly out of the alley.

“Now then,” Mr. Fell said, the tug of his fingers against Crowley’s sleeve vanishing, “Are you alright, my dear?”

Crowley didn’t have an answer for that question. He felt frail as an autumn leaf at the moment and the chill had settled into his bones as it was wont to do, and he just wanted to go home.

“Oh,” Mr. Fell tutted, looking back the way he’d come, “It looks as if I’ve been followed. I’m terribly sorry but if you come with me, I can get you to your destination safely. Where exactly where you going?”

Crowley glanced back at the empty alley, not seeing a single sign of anyone. Then he studied the worried look on Mr. Fell’s face. At the way he held himself, nervously wringing his hands. He was a wizard, Crowley knew that now. And everyone knew that wizards were dangerous and only a complete fool went off with one to who knows where. Wizard’s were shapeshifters and illusionists. And, as had been expertly displayed right in front of him, mesmerists.

Crowley gasped and spun about as there was a terrifying gurgling noise from the back of the alley. Something was scrambling atop a loaded cart halfway between them and the stairs leading up to the main street. Something very pale and so thin, the dark lines of its veins were visible through the skin and the bones like the wing of a bat.

“Please, my dear. We must go. Anywhere you want to go,” Mr. Fell’s fingers were pinching at the sleeve of his coat again.

Crowley was staring at the hollowed thing perching on top of the cart. But he was thinking about the warmth of the Bentley, now parked too far away in the opposite direction, and a long drive having a friendly argument through the wastes in the rich orange light of dusk. And of an awkwardly bright smile flashing delightedly at Crowley.

“The coffee shop. On Leitman street and King.”

“Yes, I know the one. Pardon me, dear,” and then, Crowley was gasping as Mr. Fell reached down and grasped their hands together, “Quick step now. Just act natural.”

And then he was pulling Crowley along down the alley at a brisk pace. Crowley pulled his eyes away from the creature on the cart and hurried after Mr. Fell. He easily hurried up to Mr. Fell’s side with his longer legs. They were almost to the end of the alley when a dark, furtive shifting in the shadow of a window sill caused Mr. Fell to pull them into a larger side alley to their left. He was walking faster now. Crowley wanted to run. Wanted to stretch his legs and get out of this nightmare he’d somehow wandered right into with both feet. But Mr. Fell was a wizard, and he wasn’t running, and surely there was a reason for that.

Then one of the cobblestones right in front of them slid away in a way so unnatural and impossible that Crowley’s step staggered as he suddenly grew very dizzy. But before he could fall, a strong arm was around his waist as something crawled into the alley from behind the shifting stone.

“My apologies.”

And then they were shooting upward as if Mr. Fell had opened up a set of wings and launched them toward the vibrantly blue sky. A moment later he recognized the powerful whoosh of beating wings and looked back a bit to see huge, dove white wings sweeping the air with powerful strokes. The blinding, graceful beauty of them almost drove the fear from its thrashing throne in his chest.

Then they broke the roof line and the bright sunlight struck them, and he suddenly had to look away or be blinded by the light those snowy feathers threw out.

Looking down at the busy street below them wasn’t much better. He gasped and closed his eyes as his heart slithered up into his throat. Then, without his go ahead, his arms suddenly snapped around Mr. Fell’s neck, and Crowley was immediately sure that he had no business this high up. No business at all.

“Easy there,” Mr. Fell said gently against his ear, his voice somehow perfectly clear in the cold wind, “Hold as tight as you need. I’ll have you at the coffee shop in just a moment. Just feel the wind. It’s a bit like a car with the windows down.”

Crowley choked out a laugh and didn’t open his eyes. That was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. This was certainly nothing like the Bentley.

“Very good, Ms. Ashtoreth,” Mr. Fell said in an encouraging tone that nearly ran shivers completely through Crowley. Shivers that had nothing to do with the cold.

It felt like hours and mere breaths when Mr. Fell’s grip shifted, the pattern of his wings’ beating changing. Crowley opened his eyes.

“Here we are,” Mr. Fell said, “I’m just going to set you on that balcony there. Easy.”

Crowley’s breath caught in his throat as Mr. Fell’s shiny, frumpy brown shoes touched on the rail of the balcony with hardly a creak, those magnificent wings tucking against his back like a cloak. Then he felt Mr. Fell’s hands shift down to his waist to guide Crowley’s feet safely to a sturdy wooden floor.

“There, see? You’re a natural,” Mr. Fell said, breath warm against his cheek.

Crowley started, heat rushing over his face, as he realized how tightly his arms were looped around Mr. Fell’s neck. Still. When they weren’t flying anymore. He could let go now.

It still felt like his arms were stiff and frozen in place when he actually released his grip and stepped back. But Mr. Fell was smiling a warm, pleased smile, a bit of redness in his cheeks as well. Though Crowley had yet to see Mr. Fell without color in his cheeks.

“I’ll draw them off. But I think it might be prudent to wait a few moments before going inside, alright dear?”

“‘K,” Crowley said. He knew his voice sounded pathetically breathy and swooning. Not a thing he could do about it now and if Mr. Fell teased him about it he was going to push him off the railing.

But Mr. Fell did no such thing. Instead he beamed at Crowley as if Crowley had personally done him an astonishing favor.

“Thank you, dear,” he said with that full body smile of his. Crowley couldn’t even begin to think about what the next thing to say might be. Because that smile, that warm voice, all of it had thrown all his thoughts over the railing with his dignity.

Mr. Fell didn’t seem to mind the silence, smiling and staring directly through Crowley’s dark glasses as if they weren’t there at all.

Then his wings snapped wide and he dropped off the railing and out of sight. When Crowley lurched forward to catch one last glimpse of him, he was met with the milling crowd below, completely devoid of stunning white wings.

Crowley had a bottle of wine in his hand. And a blanket over his shoulders. But he wasn’t entirely aware of either item. He had made his way back to the Bentley from the coffee shop and then from there had gone home. All concept of his plan with the paint gone completely out of his head.

And then he had gone up to his room to slip his feet out of his boots. And to get ahold of some wine and his blanket, apparently. His hands had grabbed them on instinct as he wandered downstairs in a daze. He had no idea what had just happened. What all of that had been about. A wizard. Magic. That bright smile beaming at him, catching the light like a dream.

All he knew for certain was that he felt warmer than he had in the height of summer, and he desperately needed to go water his plants and put his head back together.

He’d converted one of the many extraneous rooms in the house into a sort of botanical garden in his time watching over Warlock. And it had often been the refuge he sought when he felt as if the world was too much. Or that it was too little. He’d often been told by the Dowling’s guests that the collection of plants was astoundingly vibrant and exotic. Crowley had always preened atrociously under the attention, while shooting ominous glances at the listening plants all the while.

Couldn’t let them go getting ideas now.

He was down in the room just off the kitchen without remembering the journey through the house. The room was clean and rich with the smell of moist earth and the chemical communications of plants. Two of the walls of the room were mostly glass windows, allowing the light to pour in.

Crowley stood in the shadow of the doorway and breathed in the rich, warm silence.

The morning, he decided, had surely been strange. Perhaps it had been a thank you from Mr. Fell for the drive back into town. And surely no half decent man would stand by and let someone be attacked in an alley like that.

And so, he pulled Crowley from a tight spot and assisted him home in a breathtakingly spectacular way. One that he most certainly would not be quick to forget.

And that would be the end of it.

Crowley was not the sort of person spectacularly kind people came by to see twice.

Crowley sighed and looked down at the bottle that he held in his hand, when a soft noise sounded from the hallway.

Crowley looked up, listening for it again. But the hallway was silent beyond the sound of some distant horse and cart making its clacking way over cobbled streets and the soft chatter of people walking along the sidewalk.

He lifted the bottle to try and catch a glimpse of the label. He couldn’t quite remember what he’d bought last time he had been out.

Then a resounding crash jolted his hand. The bottle shattered over the wood floor, splashing cold up his legs and filling the air with the sound of skittering glass and the thick scent of wine.

But Crowley didn’t move to tend to the mess.

Because he could hear something moving in the hallway.

He couldn’t hear footsteps exactly. It was a rasping scrape, as if something was dragging along the floor. From the front door. He could smell the crisp fall breeze on the air. And the curling scent of air before a storm.

Bare feet surrounded by shattered glass Crowley listened, and tried not to gasp aloud with each terrified breath.

Someone was in the house. Or something. The pale, emaciated shapes of the creatures in the alley slid behind his eyes as he listened. Something was in the house.

Slowly, Crowley moved a trembling hand, so very grateful it actually moved with his command, because it felt so far away from him right now. Miles and miles away. He felt along the smooth wood of the bench beside him, sliding his hand along the base of the pots within reach. Picked up a heavy ceramic pot, the dark leaves of the trembling Alocasia brushing against his shoulder and neck.

Almost exactly when he caught hold of the pot, the scrapping sound stopped.

Crowley’s pounding heart felt loud as a drum inside his head. Surely whatever it was would hear it. Would come for Crowley.

He had never been more grateful that Warlock was at school.

Then he heard something. A soft, wet hiss.

From behind.

He spun around. Pain, far away pain, slicing at his feet.

To find someone standing between his fig trees.

A big man in a light grey suit. His face was blocky and square jawed, his eyes unblinking and pale.

“You’ve been getting into trouble,” the man said, a weird half smile on his face. As if he’d only observed the expression on other people and was only now trying one on.

“You need to get out of my house. Who are you.”

“I am Gabriel. And I am here because I would like to make you an offer.”

“What?”

“You had an interesting day today,” Gabriel said, “And now you have two choices.”

“What are you talking about. Who are you.”

“Oh that is so far above your pay grade its really really pathetic. But you have always been pathetic, so this is all old news. Anyway,” a startling clap of the man’s dark gloved hands, “Two choices. Are you paying attention?”

Crowley stared at the man in confusion, heart pounding loud in his ears. Finally he shook his head and scowled.

“I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave this house, right now, or I am calling for the guard.”

“They won’t hear, unfortunately for you. We’re very efficient about this sort of thing. Now I am in this… place talking to a person like you because one thing needs to be perfectly clear as we move forward. Wizards do not enjoy having to clean up after weaklings who cannot take care of themselves. So I am here to make sure you do not depend on a repeat of this morning’s… episode.”

Crowley had to wince at that. It was definitely information he was already aware of. But it stung to hear it out loud.

And none of this was calming Crowley down at all, because it felt like he’d accidentally picked up a very dangerous man out on the wastes. And he would die before he let that bad decision fall on Warlock.

“I understand,” Crowley said, shakily, “Completely.”

“That’s great,” Gabriel said with that toothy smile, “So make sure to keep your,” he grimaced a bit here, “Person to yourself and let your betters move on to better things. Alright?”

“Yeah, right, sure thing,” Crowley said with a nod, proud of how steady his voice sounded.

“Wonderful. Not that I believe a crawling little bottom feeder like you, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you. Just in case, you understand.”

Crowley nodded, “Mmm, perfectly. Yeah.”

Was this creep ever going to leave. Crowley could feel his body trembling, the fear still pounding through him but his limbs just didn’t have much left to give. If he just collapsed in front of this pompous bastard, he’d die of shame.

Not that he didn’t feel ready to do it anyway. With the way this Gabriel was looking at him like he was shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Great,” Gabriel said, loudly, “Glad that’s over then.”

Crowley stepped out of his way as Gabriel walked past him toward the door.

“Oh,” Gabriel said, turning to Crowley, “One more thing. To ensure you don’t forget our agreement. Standard procedure with standard conditions, you understand.”

Then his hand shot up toward Crowley’s face, so fast Crowley had only begun to flinch back when the fingers of the man's hand stretched and twisted. Something shattered against the floor. The skin of the hand glistened and shimmered bright as gold as the long, powerful talons closed about his head, sharp points scraping at the nape of his neck.

And then the world whirled and Crowley was slammed against the ground. He cried out, his voice strange to his own ears.

The huge talon lifted his head again. Crowley reached up to grasp at them with his hands, but could not find them in the painful, flashing lights that danced over the room.

Then he was falling. The darkness and the pain burst through him on burning wings.

Crowley woke on his bed stinking of wine and aching in every bone. And cold. Damn, he was so cold.

Rolling over carefully, he reached out to pull the blanket over himself but his limbs failed to move.

Crowley frowned and opened his eyes. To a strange place he had never been before. Strange waves of luxurious red cloth in all directions. And then.

Crowley looked up.

No. That was a familiar ceiling. He flicked out his tongue. And the cloth smelled like his bed. Smelled like him.

What? He felt his tongue in his mouth, long and thin and strange against teeth far stranger.

He looked down at himself then.

And found only smooth crimson scales.

He froze in horror, staring at those scales, watched them expand as the body beneath it breathed. As he breathed.

Then he closed his eyes and moved away. Back. Back. As far from those scales as he could get.

He reached the edge of the bed and tumbled off it with a strangled yelp.

The floorboards slammed into him hard enough to draw a hiss from between his teeth. He curled up around himself as the chill of the floor reached into his belly scales.

“That bastard,” Crowley hissed, “That pompous, bastard. He, oh,” Crowley said with a shudder, unable to finish the thought.

He was a snake. That monster had put a spell on him. Turned him into a snake for being accosted in an alleyway. How did that make any sense at all?!

What the devil was he going to do now! He was a bloody snake! Who was going to pick up Warlock from school?

Warlock.

Crowley uncoiled in disjointed, clumsy movements, trying to get all of him going in the same direction at once. Not that he knew what direction that was. Not in the slightest.

Because he was a snake! A pathetic, belly crawling snake!

Helpless.

How was he going to-

What could he-

Crowley was barely in anything better than a full panic now, slithering around the room, mumbling to himself.

“Nanny?”

Crowley reeled back at the familiar voice. Slithering under the bed, he peered out the other side at the pair of feet standing in the doorway.

“Are you in here? Its me, Warlock.”

Crowley felt pain in his chest at the sound of his boy’s worried voice. Could he slither out to him? Face him like this? Crowley curled in the shadow of the bed and knew the answer. He would hide here until Warlock went to another room. To look for his nanny, in an otherwise empty house.

No.

Crowley hissed and wriggled uncomfortably. Warlock would be so worried. Nanny hadn’t ever disappeared on him before.

Finally, unable to let his boy call out for him any longer, Crowley slithered slowly out from beneath the bed, his eyes on Warlock’s expensive shoes.

But Warlock didn’t startle at the sight of him like he expected. Instead, Crowley heard a relieved sigh. And Crowley suddenly realized Crowley hadn’t carried his unconscious self up to bed.

“There you are,” Warlock said, dropping to his hands and knees, making the floor shake alarmingly, “What were you doing under there anyway.”

Crowley was staring up at Warlock in disbelief.

“Do you remember that bloody creep turning you into asnake?”

Crowley wobbled his head noncommittally. Had Warlock been home? Why had he been home? Had something happened at school?

Crowley’s blood was ice to think how close Warlock had been to that horrible person.

“What are we going to do now?”

Crowley drew back a bit at the question.

“To turn you back,” Warlock said, “We have to find a way to turn you back into a human. Don’t we?”

And despite everything, if Crowley could have smiled at that moment, he would have. Warlock was such a strong boy. Always looking out for his Nanny.

But that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Warlock was still just a little thing.

“I’m going to need to have a bit of a think about that, dear. Why don’t you go give Ms. Etherberg a call, let her know I’ve caught a cold, have her ready to come over should you need anything. I can’t very well protect you properly like this, now can I.”

Warlock’s brows pinched toward the middle of his face as he thought about that.

“Well, alright. But let me put you back up on the bed where it isn’t so cold. Snakes are cold blooded, you know.”

Safely settled back on the bed, Crowley reached up to press the end of his nose to Warlock’s cheek. To smell the familiar comforting scent of him. To silently say goodbye.

Then Warlock was galloping down the stairs and Crowley dropped his head onto the blanket and discovered that snakes weren’t physically able to cry.

He shuffled around in the blankets for a bit regardless, whimpering to himself.

“Oh, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Why did this happen.”

He could hear Warlock in the phone with the nanny working in the house next door and a little piece of him relaxed. There, that was done then. Someone knew to check in on Warlock.

Sniffling a bit, Crowley slithered off the bed again and nosed at the door until it swung open enough for him to reach the hallway. And then the stairs.

He was getting much better at moving in his new body by the time he reached the ground floor.

He had to duck beneath an end table as Warlock came running past toward the kitchen. Perhaps to get his snack. Crowley usually had something prepared and waiting for him when he got home from school. But he hadn’t been able to do that today, because he’d gotten himself cursed by a witch. Like a useless idiot.

He reached the left sitting room, managed to get atop the red high backed chair, and then the window with the simple hook latch. A quick nudge with his nose had it swinging open.

“Ngk,” Crowley choked as he stared down the hedges below the window. He needed to leave. He was dangerous and useless and soon to be replaced once the Dowlings came home and found him missing. And while he knew Warlock would miss him somewhat, Warlock was a sweet boy and the new nanny, or perhaps governess, would adore him. How could they not? He was such a delight to care for.

Crowley rubbed his nose against the windowsill as his ribs tightened around his lungs.

This, he thought, this was the feeling of a heart breaking.

He managed a weak scoff. He had always doubted he had one. Guess he had an answer to that question now.

“Nanny? What are you doing?”

Crowley turned so fast he almost toppled into the hedges.

“Nothing, Warlock. Just getting some fresh air.”

Warlock glanced between him and the bright afternoon outside, “Don’t leave me,” he said, so softly.

“Oh, dear, of course I won’t-”

“Please,” Warlock said, eyes falling to the rug at his feet, “Please take me with you.”

“You know I can’t,” Crowley said, his voice tight and choked.

“I love you, Nanny. And you’re the only person who loves me.”

“That is not true. Your parents, your friends at school, they-”

“Don’t love me,” Warlock insisted, looking up to meet Crowley’s eyes, “You know it.”

“Your parents are terrible,” Crowley admitted, “And I am so sorry they are so selfish they can’t see what a magnificent son they have.”

Warlock blinked and tears splashed his cheeks. Crowley swallowed as his chest tightened around him further. But then he took a breath and said what he had to.

“I do not know where I am going, Warlock. But I know that I will not be able to protect and care for you. It would be so horribly selfish for me to bring you with me. So very selfish.”

“Didn’t you teach me that selfishness is the path to true happiness?”

“I… damn, yes I suppose I did say that,” he said, wriggling a bit at how he hadn’t seen that one coming around to bite him.

“And you don’t think you’ll survive on your own, not like that, or you would have promised to come back once the spell was broken. It's autumn and you’re a snake. How can you even survive the night. Nanny, I need to go with you, to help you, and then we can find somewhere, somewhere nice and …” Warlock said the last bit softly, as if he were baring a secret, “And then we can be a family together.”

Crowley had no idea how he was going to do it. No idea at all. But their world had more magic in it today than it had the day before. And his boy had just made a wish. And if he had to learn how to fly to do it, he was going to fulfill that wish.

“Alright, Warlock. But we’re going to need to pack quickly. Ms. Etherberg will be over soon.”

Warlock looked up at him with tentative hope for a moment, tears still wet on his cheeks. But when Crowley didn’t take it back, Warlock bounced across the distance to them and scooped Crowley off the windowsill.

Crowley pressed up into the warm, careful hug Warlock wrapped him in, tucking his head under the boy’s chin, “I love you, Nanny.”

“I love you, too dear,” Crowley said, “So much.”


	2. The Wastes

Curled up on the seat, long snakey body tucked up tight against Warlock’s hip, Crowley stares unseeing at Warlock’s feet and hates himself.

What was he doing!

Warlock was just a little boy! Crowley was useless and had just been cursed. By the most terrifying man Crowley had ever met! And now, after a moment of brilliant stupidity, Warlock was strapped in for the ride!

What had he been thinking!

That he didn’t have nearly enough practice saying no to Warlock since he’d spoiled him shamelessly all his life. And he especially didn’t have practice saying no to Warlock when he was crying. The boy hardly ever did it. Other than when the Dowlings sent a letter that summer saying that they were leaving the country due to all of the excitement of the coming war and wouldn’t be back until it had all calmed down. And all of those winter holidays they hadn’t bothered to come home from as promised, canceling over a brief telegram at the last minute.

But he hadn’t really been thinking about any of that.

He’d been thinking that he didn’t want to be alone again.

Because he was selfish and so much worse than Warlock’s parents. Because he was letting him drive them to the next town over where Crowley hoped the wizard Angelus still had a shop and might be begged into helping them.

They should get into town before dark and then they could hopefully find the shop.

Crowley looked up at Warlock as the Bentley bounced along the road. His expression was so serious as he focused on the road and his driving, the light of dusk a halo of gold and pink behind his head.

Crowley might be a horrible selfish snake, but at least his outside now matched who he was inside.

And through all of that, he was so proud of Warlock and his bravery. Somehow, Crowley had managed to not mess him up too terribly.

Another bump in the road jolted Crowley enough he slid away from Warlock’s warmth.

The roads had really not been tended to properly this summer. That did not bode well for travel this winter.

Crowley lifted his head to peer out the window, to see how far they’d gotten and to gauge how far away nightfall lay.

And what he saw made his breath choke in his throat.

The wastes.

In all directions, empty, rocky, barren hills.

“Warlock, what is happening! This isn’t the road to Southhaven!”

But Warlock did not answer.

Crowley looked up at the boy and gasped.

Warlock was staring out of the glass, unblinking as a sleepwalker. What Crowley had taken for concentration, now that his heart was pounding in his chest, he now saw for what it was. A blank, sleepwalker’s stare looking unseeing at the wastes and the little, rutted road they were bouncing along.

“Warlock,” Crowley called, slithering closer, “Wake up! Please, wake up!”

His voice was shrill and choked and Warlock did not so much as blink at it. Truly panicking now, Crowley looked around. At the familiar interior of the car, at Warlock’s school bag and Crowley’s large purse sitting on the back seat full of clothes and food for Warlock. Useless. Crowley did not know what was happening, what horrible spell he had brought on Warlock. This was all his fault. He shouldn’t have brought him along.

He was so stupid.

But he would fix it. He had to.

Tentatively, he pressed his nose to Warlock’s shoulder, his hand, then his cheek. He flicked his tongue at Warlock’s ear to tickle it. He hissed as menacingly as he knew how. He shouted.

Warlock drove on. His stillness as chilling as if Crowley was watching a corpse.

Finally, he whimpered and lunged at Warlock’s arm. Bite down hard enough to draw blood. He choked as the smell and taste of his boy’s blood burst from beneath the skin.

But then Warlock was lurching away. Crowley would have cried at the sound of his pained shout if he’d been able.

“Nanny!” Warlock cried, looking down.

Crowley recoiled, “I am sorry, Warlock. Quick, stop the car. We need to pressss something over that. I am so sorry. You weren’t waking up!”

Warlock blinked down at Crowley and then looked up when they bumped over a rock.

“Nanny, this…” Warlock trailed off, staring out at the wastes. Then he sniffled and began to shake, “Nanny, I don’t know where we are. How did we get here!”

“Ssssh,” Crowley crooned immediately, nudging his nose against Warlock’s shoulder, the sickening taste of blood still in his mouth, “It’s alright. Just a little oddnesss. We’ll figure it out. Its alright.”

Warlock nodded tightly, eyes shiny as he slowed the car to a stop. Crowley could hear him gasping in each breath.

The wind moaned over the car as the engine rumbled. They sat beside each other quietly for a moment, staring out at the barren hills splashed gold by the setting sun.

“I think the best thing to do now would be to just turn around and head back the way we came,” Crowley finally said, “See? Easy.”

Warlock stared out at the wastes and nodded very slowly. But Crowley could plainly see that he was still upset by what had happened. Crowley was definitely thoroughly disturbed by it himself. But he chucked Warlock under the chin to get his attention, aching to be able to smile reassuringly at him. But he was only a useless snake and no real comfort to anybody.

But Warlock was worth trying anyway.

“It’sss alright, my dear. Don’t worry. I’ll sit on your ssshoulders this time, keep an eye out. We’ll get there together.”

After a moment, a little sliver of a smile creeped onto Warlock’s face, “Like the woman at the carnival.”

“What woman?”

“The one that carries a huge snake and feeds it live rats.”

“Oh…” Crowley said, a vague memory coming back of when he’d taken Warlock to the carnival when he was nine because Warlock’s parent’s had gone out with friends instead of taking him like they had promised.

The two of them had had quite a bit of fun without them. Far more than they would have had with them, he reckoned bitterly.

“Yessss,” Crowley answered, “Exactly like the woman at the carnival. That does sound like fun, doesn’t it.”

He looked down at Warlock’s injured arm, surprised to see that it had already stopped bleeding. Hadn’t even managed more than a little drop of blood. Crowley stared at it. He could have sworn he’d mangled Warlock much worse than that.

It had felt like Crowley had been tearing off his own arm. That there was so little to show for it was enough to set his whole body to shaking with relief. He didn’t even know that snakes could shiver.

“Nanny? Are you cold?” Warlock asked.

“No, dear boy, just a little tired,” he said as Warlock reached down to carefully scoop him up and deposit him on his shoulders, “My but when did you grow so tall.”

Warlock snorted and rolled his eyes, “I’m eleven, Nanny,” as if that explained everything.

As Warlock turned the car around, he did not notice the figure standing at the top of the rise ahead of them. Not because the figure was well hidden, but because the figure did not choose to be seen. Warlock also did not notice the fuel gauge pointing near empty. And as he drove back down the hill, he did not notice that the town should have been visible when they reached the next rise.

Crowley did not notice any of these things either, because the figure at the top of the hill did not let him see them. And he did not yet know how to feel such things.

And as they drove in a direction very different from the one they thought, Warlock soon fell back into the waking trance he had been in previously. And the inside of the car grew cold, despite the heat coming out of the vents. And by the time the Bentley sputtered exhaustedly to a stop on the side of a bleak, windswept hill, Crowley’s snake body had long since fallen into a life saving sleep.

They sat there silent and oblivious for a time. Until, finally, Warlock woke.

He was frozen through.

Warlock shivered and reached for the buttons of his coat. His fingers hurt with cold as he worked the buttons. Then he tucked his hands under his arms and looked around.

The light had gone mostly grey now, the sky still lit with a bit of orange but the light was blocked by the distant mountains.

The car had stopped somehow and they hadn’t seemed to have gotten anywhere close to the town.

Warlock shivered and pulled in quick shallow breaths of fear as he stared out the windows.

It had happened again. And now the car wasn’t on anymore. He guessed they’d run out of gas. Which was very very bad. He tried to turn the key with his trembling fingers, but the car just whined at him and stayed cold.

Then he shifted and felt the unfamiliar weight about his shoulders.

He turned his head and startled at the dark tail hanging down his side.

“Nanny?”

He looked the other way and found Nanny’s dark head lying against his chest, those bright yellow eyes open.

“Nanny?” He called, throat tight now, “Nanny, wake up!”

There was no answer, no shifting. Warlock lifted a hand, slowly, terrified. And rested it against Nanny’s cold body. When he did not feel any breathing, he jerked his hand away.

And then he began to cry.

Nanny was dead. Was Nanny dead? Or… maybe he was hibernating? It was so cold. Maybe. Maybe he would be alright if he got warm again.

Movements rushed but attempting to be careful, he reached up and slipped Nanny’s body from around his shoulders. He couldn’t quite get the long coils into any form he knew what to do with, but he finally got Nanny to coil a bit like a rope. Then he lifted his chin and lowered the configuration into his coat.

Arms hooked to support Nanny’s weight from outside the coat, Warlock stared at the steering wheel for a long time, blinking at the moisture that kept welling up in his eyes and wondering what he could do now. He hadn’t felt this small in a very long time.

He needed to figure something out. Nanny could not help him now.

He had taken such good care of Warlock for so long. Warlock had always done his best to take care of Nanny as well. Nanny got sad sometimes. He was always gentle with Warlock, though, even when his smiles seemed to heavy with sadness. And he always played games with Warlock. He’d wear pants to scurry up trees with him and he always made the best voices whenever they were snowed in and played games in the house. Warlock had always been particularly impressed with his kraken voice.

And lately, whenever Mom and Dad did not come home when they said they would, he remembered that even when they were there, they didn’t ever sit and talk with him the way Nanny would. They didn’t play games. They didn’t smile at him.

This Christmas was the first time he’d realized he was happier with just Nanny there than he’d ever really been with Mom and Dad there, talking over his head and telling him to go play in another room.

He loved Nanny. So much he wished Nanny was his real mother.

Now Nanny was cold and still in Warlock’s coat. And he needed Warlock’s help.

But Warlock couldn’t think what to do. And he couldn’t stop crying.

And that was finally when the figure at the top of the hill allowed Warlock to see it.

At first, Warlock thought it was a piece of a dead tree or something, sticking up out of the ground. It made a lot more sense to his eyes than a figure of a boy standing all the way out here by himself.

But it was a boy, Warlock realized. Golden haired and pale skinned, wearing a blue jacket. He did not have his jacket done up and the wind didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

Warlock leaned forward in his seat and peered up the road at the boy. And he felt a tired dread in his belly.

Because he knew that he would have to get out of the Bentley and talk to the boy. Because it was getting dark out and Nanny was not moving at all.

By the time he had climbed out of the car, his teeth were clattering together in his mouth. He bent over a bit, arms wrapped around the lump under his coat, trying his best to get between Nanny and the chill of the whistling wind.

The air smelled like snow and the clouds overhead looked a bit dark. And the boy was still standing there watching him, not moving at all.

Warlock struggled his way up the middle, puffing as hischest ached with his shivers. The road was deeply rutted and stones slid treacherously beneath his shoes. The grass to either side of the road hissed at him as it flailed in the wind.

Then Warlock was standing in front of the boy, looking up into his calm face. He looked to be about Warlock’s age. He wasn’t as tall as Warlock, but there was something odd about his eyes that made Warlock suspect he might be older than he appeared.

“Hello,” Warlock said quietly.

“Hello,” the boy said with a little smile, “What’s your name?”

“Warlock.”

“Good to meet you, Warlock. That’s an odd name, you know. I’m Adam.”

Warlock shuffled a bit, then said, “Do you know a place we can go that isn’t so cold? My Nanny is not doing so well.”

Adam looked down at Warlock’s coat, “He’s not been doing well for a long while.”

A sound carried to Warlock’s ears on the wind and he turned toward it. But he did not see anything out on the hills around them.

“Do you play games?” Adam asked, “I know some wicked games. But there are only four of us and we can’t play some of them.”

Warlock heard the sound again and turned around to find the source. It wasn’t a very nice sound. Like a screech of metal. Or laughter.

He turned back to Adam, a bit afraid now, “Um, yes, I play games. But I haven’t had friends to play them before. Other than Nanny.”

Adam smiled, “Oh, that’s alright. We’re very good at being friends. We’ll show you how.”

Warlock would have answered, but he was too busy staring at what was crawling through the grass to stand at Adam’s side.

It was a huge dog. With hollow pits for eyes and a huge, slavering maw of teeth.

Adam looked over at the thing and placed a hand on its head, “Don’t worry. He’s a very good dog. Does everything I tell him to.”

Warlock looked back at Adam and shivered, arms tightening around Nanny’s weight in his coat.

“He…” Warlock paused and swallowed, “He seems like a very good dog.”

Adam smiled again, “I can have you led to a nice place to stay. But you have to promise to come back and play with us tomorrow morning. And bring something to wear as a cape. We lost our last cape.”

Warlock nodded, his nose beginning to drip with the cold, “I promise.”

“That’s good. Just over the hill a bit is your guide. It was good meeting you,” Adam said. Then he stood in place and watched Warlock expectantly, his dog licking at his jowls loudly.

“Good to meet you too,” Warlock managed.

He looked back at the Bentley, thinking of their things inside it. He hurried back to it, very aware of Adam standing there watching him.

Warlock opened the back door and stared at the two bags for a moment, but he only managed to snag the strap of Nanny’s big black purse while keeping Nanny supported beneath his coat. It was alright, he thought, Nanny’s purse had the food in it after all. He wouldn’t need all of his clothes and things tonight.

When he closed the door and turned back up the hill, Adam was gone and, to Warlock’s relief, so was the dog.

At the top of the hill, Warlock did not see anything waiting on the other side but more of the narrow dirt road and some tough old bushes.

But then he noticed something sticking out of the top of one. It was rusty and strange looking, and he couldn’t help but walk closer to take a look.

He couldn’t really tell what it was in the failing light. But when he set down Nanny’s bag to reach up a hand and pull on it, the rusty metal started to move. He let go and staggered back, badly startled.

Then the whole bush started to move. The leaves hissed and the branches clattered and beneath it all Warlock could hear a groaning mechanical whine.

And then a branch snapped inside the bush and something very strange toppled out.

It was… well, Warlock was pretty sure it was a robot of some kind. Like in his story books of traveling to the future. Spitting the occasional spark from the odd freely waving wire, it thrashed about in the grass, a tall cone shaped body topped with a disk shaped head with huge glass eyes. On of the eyes was dark and cracked while the other glowed a bright blue.

Warlock stepped back as it suddenly righted itself and rose up on three long crablike legs.

“Um, hello,” Warlock said, “Are you my guide? I need to find a warm place to stay?”

The robot made a few whirring noises and then turned around and began staggering down the hill. Warlock noticed words partially visible through the rust on the back of the robot’s body. It had the letters ‘TURPIN’ but Warlock did not know what it meant.

Then he realized he was being left behind and snatched Nanny’s purse from the ground as he hurried after it.

“Wait for me, Turpin!”

Crowley found the strength to open his eyes very slowly. First he sniffed at the strange scent of wood smoke and dust. So, he knew he wasn’t at the Dowlings. A lovely old gentleman was hired to come by every day and clean that place to within a hair’s breadth of its life. There was another scent there, one he felt he should know … but couldn’t quite place. And an odd buzzing sound in the hair that felt like an oncoming headache. But he was particularly bothered by that mystery smell.

Then it became obvious when he opened his eyes.

Books. Bursting shelves and teetering piles of books everywhere he looked.

He winced at the soreness in his neck as he turned his head to look around. He was in a little room with a brightly lit fireplace in one corner and a high backed chair in the other. There was a rather sad looking fig tree sitting beneath a high window. The window was covered in carvings of things Crowley couldn’t even begin to reliably name. It let in only a little bit of sunlight through the grime and the dust coating the glass. When he looked at the book shelves, he found carved faces, and flowers, and other shapes hidden amongst the books. And more wilted, yellow leaved plants. The rest of the space seemed to be taken up by stacks of books and the wide bed Crowley was currently lying in.

He sat up and groaned as the muscles in his arms and back protested loudly at the movement.

Then he paused. And looked down.

“Ha!” He said, holding his hands in front of his face. He ran them over his arms, his perfectly human arms, “Not a snake anymore!”

He was out of the bed in a flailing excitement of limbs, stiff limbs or no. There was no explanation at all of how he wasn’t slithering any longer. Other than Warlock. Having made it to Southhaven and found Wizard Angelus’ shop.

Warlock.

Crowley glanced at the single door leading out of the room. He knew it was probably foolish. This room was strange but it was so warm and filled with familiar, human things. They must have made it out of the wastes.

But he didn’t know where his boy was. And his hand was shaking a bit as he reached for the brass door handle.

There was a strange vibration running through the door, like an electric current was running through the wood and the peeling blue paint. But when he reached out and pressed the back of his fingers to the door latch, he felt nothing more than the cool, smooth brass beneath his fingers.

So he pressed down, and opened the door.

To an empty hallway.

He took a tentative step out as he studied the space.

There was a tired, threadbare runner of indeterminate color on the old wood floor. Three doors, two on the left, one on the right. A very dejected potted pothos sitting on a dusty end table in the corner where the hallway turned out of sight. And books. Stacks of books gathered against the walls like windswept autumn leaves.

And that odd, incessant humming noise.

Crowley stalked down the hall and found only one of the doors to be locked. One of the other doors contained a second bedroom, so he assumed, though what he thought might be a bed was covered in haphazardly piled scrolls. The last door contained a bathroom. It also contained a bath tub full of books and a riotous growth of ivy that crawled up the walls and across the ceiling and crowded out most of the light straining to enter the room from the single window.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the smugly sovereign ivy and closed the door.

When he reached the turning in the hallway, he found that there were stairs immediately around the turn, old and dark and definitely the sort that would creak all of the way down and ending in a wall of bookshelves.

Crowley was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t woken up in an actual library. Though it was the dustiest, most run down library he had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. And he had been in several libraries in his time, which would be very surprising to his friends if he’d had any.

He was distracting himself from the ominously looming stairs by inspecting the pitiful pothos and its long, pale stems when he looked up. At first he froze, startled at what must be a very unusual painting hanging on the wall above the plant. Then he moved a bit to inspect it. And it moved with him.

He jolted back with a strangled yelp, nearly upending as his heel caught the runner. And stared at the thing staring back at him from the mirror.

It looked a bit, fuck, a bit like him. Shoulder length red hair, hollow cheeks, and gangly body wearing a black blouse and skirt. But…

That reflection was looking at him with a monster’s eyes. Huge, yellow, cat-slitted eyes.

He felt his hand reach up and press trembling fingertips to the flesh just below them. Watched it’s hand move in the reflection to match.

That deep humming sound was growing louder.

What was that. In the mirror. Why did it look like him, only not. What would happen if he moved. Looked away? Could it get out of the mirror? What should he do?

Then he heard a sound. The unmistakable sound of familiar feet pounding up unfamiliar stairs.

Without hesitating, he called out, “Don’t! Don’t come up here, Warlock! There’s something…”

The steps stopped. He could see Warlock’s dark head out of the corner of his eye. And while he was terrified. He was relieved that he knew where Warlock was, that he had stopped him before the thing in the mirror saw him.

“Nanny?” Warlock’s voice had gone tight, “What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

“I,” Crowley tried, stomach turning as the creature in the mirror moved its mouth with him, the skin strange and gray and unnatural as it moved, “Warlock, do you know where we are. I can’t…”

“We’re safe, Nanny. The robot led me to Aziraphale’s Library and it let us in.”

Crowley spun toward Warlock at that, “We’re where?”

Warlock seemed to startle at his tone.

“Aziraphale’s Library? The wizard’s library that wanders the wastes? Wha- How?”

But Warlock didn’t answer. Just stared.

A shock of fear ran through Crowley. But when he glanced back at the mirror, nothing had begun to crawl out toward him. So that was one question answered. And now he knew why something so horrible would be hanging on this particular wall. A wizard’s library. That was definitely not good.

But Warlock was still staring at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m not really angry. Just worried. Wizards aren’t very good news,” Crowley said, “We need to find a way to leave as soon as possible.”

“Nanny.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Your eyes.”

“What?”

“What happened to your eyes?”

Crowley did not glance at the mirror. Did not need to take a look at them to see what Warlock could possibly be talking about.

Because he knew.

The humming was loud on the air now. And there was another sound rising with it. A high pitched wail like a kettle just gearing up to shriek.

That monster in the mirror had come out after all and latched onto Crowley. He’d just become human again and he’d only managed to wander down a single hallway before catching a face full of another curse.

And horrible, cursed eyes that he was staring at Warlock with.

Slapping his palms over his eyes, Crowley shouted over the droning hum pounding against his ears, “Don’t look, Warlock! Just… don’t look!”

Then, with the suddenness of falling into a tank of water, Crowley struck the surface of the wall of sound. And beyond it. Silence.

And a very bored voice behind him saying, “An idiot like you izzz never going to get rid of that curse.”

Crowley gasped in a breath, turned, and after a moment’s hesitation, peeked between his fingers. What he saw made him drop his hands altogether.

There was a person standing at the end of the hall. They were small and dark haired and their face was covered in painful looking boils. Dark, tired eyes glared at him, effortlessly communicating that they had never been more underwhelmed by a person in their entire life.

Crowley heard Warlock take a few steps upward so that he could set his hand on the top step and peer around at the person. Crowley sidestepped a bit to make it harder for the newcomer to get a good look at the boy. Because the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and he was somehow certain in his bones that this person did not step out of any of the hallway’s doors just now.

“Ah, you- Who are you?” Crowley asked.

“That’s Beelzebub,” Warlock chimed in, “They let us in here. Got you up where you could be warm.”

Crowley took in that information alongside the sores and the flies buzzing lazily around their head and stiffened.

“Ah, he’s got it now,” the demon said with as much energy as the nearly comatose.

Crowley stares at the creature, heart pounding against the bones of his chest, unable to speak. Unable to see through the flailing of his thoughts.

“You owe me, worm,” Beelzebub said, “Because the brat is right. You would have died if I hadn’t helped you. Died of the cold and of your stupid snake body.”

That helped Crowley figure out how to put words together again, “You broke my curse? Why,only to give me another one.”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes and looked down at Warlock, almost as if it were commiserating, “I didn’t break your curse. Do you think a demon would do that for free?”

“Ah, well, I mean-”

He still had the same curse? Even though he wasn’t a snake anymore? That explained the eyes. But Crowley wasn’t sure how he felt about that explaining the eyes. Or what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

“You have to do something for me first, worm,” those dark eyes were now on Crowley again, which was his preference but also terrifying, “I’m bound to the scheming, idiot wizard who rules this library. Do you understand? A demon like me? Beholden to a wizard.”

They spat the words like they were grit between their teeth.

Crowley made his best sympathy sounds, “That’s right terrible, yeah…How do you think I can do that?”

The demon sneered, “No idea. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your pathetic life slithering around on your belly, you’ll figure it out. And you won’t go letting the wizard know I recruited you or this curse is going to look like a summer picnic, you hear?”

“Right, yeah, ‘course,” Crowley said with a jerky nod, “Then you’ll break my curse in return. Seems… fair.”

The demon just sneered at that. And then dissolved into a cloud of buzzing black flies. Crowley’s shoulder slammed into the wall as he dove out of its way as it shot past him and down the stairs. As he leaned away from the wall, he could hear it buzzing away somewhere out of sight and shivered.

“Nanny?”

Crowley wasn’t able to answer Warlock right then. He’d closed his eyes and was taking a few long calming breaths and fighting a strange tight feeling around his chest. Perhaps he was about to have an attack. To pile one more thing onto everything.

And he’d deserve it. He was such an idiot. Picking up strange, warm people in his car. Getting cursed by witches. Dragging a child along with him to try and break the curse. He could remember now the heavy, bone deep cold that Warlock’s skinny little arms couldn’t begin to keep at bay. Why hadn’t Crowley bought him a bigger coat? Surely Warlock hadn’t been warm enough at school in that one. The wind had gone right through it.

And now he was cursed and caught in another wizard’s clutches and Warlock was in it now too and Crowley thought perhaps he might cry it was all just so much and he hated that because he needed to get them out of this. Or at least Warlock but his chest felt so tight. Why hadn’t he included that in the deal when the demon was here? What would happen when the curse was broken? Never mind himself. Would the demon let Warlock go home?

And what about the wizard? What sort of horrible creature must they be, living out in the wastes like this? With a demon? He knew from living at the wastes edge that the wizard Aziraphale was not one of those doddering old harmless wizards that took up shop near cities and towns from time to time. Aziraphale was one of the dangerous ones, known for his dangerous curses, deadly temper and strong dislike of trespassers.

And they were in his library. In a wizard’s bloody library.

Crowley was on his knees now, slumped against the wall of the book strewn hallway. His eyes, his horrible egg yellow eyes, decidedly wet with tears. Warlock was standing over him, a tentative hand giving Crowley’s head little pats here and there as the boy talked. But Crowley could not really hear what he was saying.

And then Crowley was on his belly and the world was all much bigger and much more terrifying and Warlock was trying to pick him up, but Crowley was now a bundle of gangling coils and kept slipping out of his hands on purpose. And Crowley could not begin to care that he was a snake again because it wasn’t as if he was more useless in this form.

Warlock pulled back and shouted a bit, but he did not leave. Crowley could taste his familiar scent when he flicked out his tongue, could feel the heat of his blood beating in his little body.

And then there was a pounding sound Crowley felt in his belly scales and he lifted his head in alarm.

The first thing he noticed was that Warlock was sitting against the opposite wall, knees gathered up to his chest. And he was crying. Crowley could taste the salt now.

Crowley had only begun to writhe with guilt for that when someone mounted the top step of the stairs and startled at the sight of them.

“Oh, oh hello! So surprising to see you.”

Then Crowley shook free of his fit enough to recognize who he was looking at and he startled himself with a very startling hiss.

Because first of all, he knew Mr. Fell was an odd sort from the moment he’d spotted him on the side of the road. But also, just seeing him in his pale suit and his worn waistcoat, being looked at by those hazel eyes again threw Crowley back into the memory of flying. Of his heart pounding and warmth radiating through the man’s clothing into Crowley’s hands. And the bright flutter that had never really left his chest ever since. Which had just paired very alarmingly with a wash of relief at seeing him here. The relief coming from the fact that he somehow instinctively believed that if Mr. Fell was in this library, surely it wasn’t as awful a place as he had been imagining. This was a ridiculous assumption to make, and he knew it, but his body didn’t seem to care.

He immediately set to getting his bloody emotions back into order, because really he was being very pathetic about a man he only just met a couple of times. And he convinced himself he was making some headway with his task, but then he was pulled out of it by that insistent voice.

“Sorry,” Mr. Fell said, wringing his hands awkwardly as he nodded his head at Crowley and then at Warlock, “Heard you’d been hired by Beez and thought I’d come give you a more…,” he wiggled a bit here as he grasp for a word, “Welcoming welcome.”

They both stared at him as he beamed uncomfortably at both of them.

“Welcome!” Mr. Fell finally said, shooting his hands out in a way that was probably meant to be welcoming, but just looked a bit like a spasm that nearly murdered the potted pothos.

“You are a bit crazy, right?” Warlock said, “I noticed in the car, but you’re having a bit of a day, yeah?”

Mr. Fell’s smile fell a bit, but then he glanced at Crowley and lifted his chin while dragging the remnants of his smile over his face, “That’s not… entirely inaccurate, young man, but it is also somehow a better day than most.”

Then the smile found a bit of its old spirit, “Would either of you care for some lunch? I have a bacon sandwich for the boy and, ah, perhaps some fresh duck eggs for you, dear?”

Crowley wasn’t sure what his coils were doing at the sudden question, but he hoped it wasn’t as awkward as it felt. Because he wasn’t sure why Mr. Fell was here, but he was pretty sure his sudden appearance was doing something strange in his belly. Or at least where he thought his belly was in this form. Perhaps he was just hungry.

“Ah, that would, yes, fine…”

They were halfway down the stairs, Crowley draped over Warlock’s shoulders when Crowley whispered toward Warlock’s ear, “Are you alright?”

Warlock nodded, “Yeah, I’m good. Are you mad at me?”

Crowley reeled back a bit, staring at Warlock, “You- wah- For saving our lives? Angry? I think not!”

Warlock grinned at that, “Ok, cuz I may have told the fly guy that you would take care of all the plants if they let us stay here.”

“What?!”

“You’re very good at it, Nanny.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Well, here we are!” Mr. Fell’s voice loudly interjected, “A delightful spread of luncheon for all of us. If you’d care to sit down?”

They were in a room full of books. Crowley was finally realizing this place probably didn’t have another kind. but it also contained a cozy little sitting area and a kitchenette with a little table with a lacey table cloth surrounded by four chairs.

Warlock sat down in front of his sandwich on a chair that only creaked a little bit. And then set Crowley on a stack of books set atop the chair beside him. In front of a little blue porcelain dish containing some rather tempting looking eggs. Crowley flicked out his tongue. The eggs were warm. And he was suddenly starving.

He was nosing at one and wrestling with a sudden horrifying urge to unhinge his jaw and swallow it whole when Mr. Fell took a bite of his own sandwich.

And made a sound as he chewed. A happy little hum.

That immediately pulled Crowley’s attention and he completely forgot about his plate of eggs.

Then in a blink, Warlock was sliding off his chair, “I’m going to play now, Nanny.”

Crowley was slammed out of whatever daze he’d been in and snapped his head around. How had the boy had time to eat that entire sandwich? “

Oi, you watch what you’re about. This isn’t a normal library! And don’t being running around touching whatever you please!”

“Oh, he’ll be alright,” Mr. Fell said, “Unless, hm, he’s not the sort to go after books with grubby fingers?”

Crowley scoffed, “Nah, he’ll probably want to go outside. But with the library going about moving whenever it pleases, he can’t be doing that.”

“Well, the library doesn’t exactly move whenever it pleases. Beelzebub moves it. And they aren’t going to leave the boy behind. So no worries there.”

But then Crowley heard a door slam somewhere along the hallway Warlock had just disappeared down, and he immediately began to worry.

“Did he remember to button up his coat? And did he grab his scarf and hat. It’s cold as hell’s bones out there!”

Crowley was poking around his tower of books, trying to find a way to get down when warm, soft hands scooped him up and lifted him up against a warm chest that smelled of sugar and tea.

“Ah,” Crowley was suddenly set back down on the books, “I’m sorry, my dear. I was just going to help you. But I should have asked. My apologies.”

It took Crowley a moment to find his words again over the jittery haze those hands had thrown over him.

“Nah- it’s- ‘ssssgood.”

Mr. Fell gave Crowley a pleased smile and then made an adorable, preparatory little motion with his whole body, before scooping Crowley up again.

“There’s a large window in the green room that we can check on him from as long as he doesn’t go far. If he does, we can go out and fetch him. Does that sound alright, dear?”

Crowley must have mumbled something satisfactory because then Mr. Fell was carrying him down the hall and through a doorway into a rich green painted study with, yes- a very large window that took up much of one wall.

“There, you see? All bundled up properly.”

Crowley peered out the window as Mr. Fell brought them up to it. Outside was a misty, dreary day on the wastes, the grassy foothills steadily rising in all directions, dark grey outcroppings breaking through like jagged teeth. And just a ways away from the window was Warlock, already fully immersed in one of his games. He had a blanket tied about his shoulders like a cape and seemed to be having an involved conversation with the air. He really was an imaginative boy.

“Would you like to have a seat with me here?” Mr. Fell said, “It’s a really rather cozy spot.”

Before Crowley knew it, he was deposited on a dark, high backed chair. Mr. Fell was settling himself into the tartan monstrosity opposite with a pleased sigh.

Then he startled, “Oh! Let me go get your lunch for you to nibble on.”

And then he was out of his chair and toddering out of the room.

Once the door closed, Crowley stared at it for a long moment thinking that this wasn’t at all what he thought would happen when he had realized where they were. He’d somehow turned back into a snake, and they were still in an infamously dangerous wizard’s lair. But the room was warm and comfortable if a bit dusty. And Warlock didn’t seem very afraid at all, to be honest. Also, the plants in this place really did need some immediate managing. He glared at the scraggly hanging plants in the window and the Joshua tree by the lamp. Oh yes, there was definitely a bit to do here. A few of those looked very odd, exotics he’d never seen before and he found himself feeling eager to see what they could look like with a little effort.

Perhaps, he thought, it wouldn’t be so terrible to stay. He’d have to put together some sort of curriculum for Warlock. It would be like the traveling holiday they took when Warlock was a bit smaller. Perhaps Mr. Fell knew where a phone was at so that he could contact the school and get everything in order.

He had set his head down on the arm of the chair, staring out at the clouds meandering over the hills when Mr. Fell returned and set the plate of eggs beside him.

“There you are. Unless, you’d prefer something different. I have all sorts of things. Oh! Or we could go to the shops and collect something for you and young Warlock. Is there anything in particular he likes?”

“Well,” Crowley said, relieved to hear civilization was within such easy reach, “The usual things children like. Hamburgers. Nuggets. He’s actually rather picky, but he’ll let you know what he wants if you ask. Or even if you don’t.”

He smiled at the window and set his chin on his hand, the plate of eggs wobbling a bit where it balanced on one skinny thigh.

“That should work out very well then, I think,” Mr. Fell said, patting his knees once with his hands as he sat down.

Crowley watched him get settled in for a moment and then said, “I’m to be looking after the plants from now on, right?”

Mr. Fell nodded, “Yes, that’s right. I have so many of them, but I’ve never really been very good with plants, you know. But I’ve done my best. Some of them belonged to an old friend of mine and I couldn’t bear to let them go. I’ve lost a few anyway, I’m afraid. The others I’ve picked up or they just moved themselves in. But Warlock assures me you’re just the one to get them back in tip top shape.”

“Mm, I can give it a go. Have to move things around a bit. Get it just right.”

“Oh move whatever you like, my dear. I’m not very picky.”

“So what do you do around here?”

Mr. Fell let out a little puff of air, “Well, not much honestly. I look after the books mostly. Occasionally, I’ll do a bit of work in various towns, but most towns look after themselves for the most part, so there isn’t all that much call for it.”

“I’m sorry. Call for what exactly?”

“This and that. Spells. Tonics. Elixirs. That sort of thing, you know.”

Mr. Fell blinked as silence spread through the room.

“Are you alright?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in his chair.

Crowley’s mouth worked for a bit and then he said, “Did you say spells?”

“Yes, I did,” Mr. Fell with a confused nod.

“Are you like an apprentice or something?”

Mr. Fell snorted, “No, my dear boy, I haven’t been an apprentice in…” he waved a hand vaguely.

Crowley felt frozen in his chair, his heart sinking down somewhere in his gut.

Because he was putting something together that he really really did not like.

“Oh, oh I see, Mr. Fell suddenly said, frowning, “Oh, fiddlesticks, I apologize for the misunderstanding. Though I can see you’ve figured it out all on your own. You are very clever after all,” Mr. Fell wrung his hands a bit and sat up impossibly straighter in his chair.

“I am, as you’ve noticed, the wizard Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Well, things have gotten kind of busy for we but fall is here! So i’ll at least be wearing a sweater as things get crazy! I love fall so much guys. Snuggling up in a huge blanket with a good book while it’s a bit chilly out is my heart song. Looking for my next book to read though. If any of you have a favorite, please recommend it to me!
> 
> And I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please comment if you can because I adore comments.
> 
> Thanks for visiting!


	3. Staring at the Scenery

Crowley has no idea what he is looking at.

Alright, he has a general idea. He is a very observant person. Been observing things for as long as he can remember really. So, he is able to wrinkle up his forehead at what he is looking at and make some general observations. And he observes that, what he is holding... its ... probably a plant.

He blinks once at the little pot full of eggshells with five green orbs sitting atop it and has to admit he isn’t even sure about that much. But rather than continue vacillating any longer, he finally lifts the spray bottle and gives it an experimental sprucing before setting the pot back on the bench and turning to the rest of the room.

The back room of the library, the one with the huge window was currently looking a bit rumpled. More so than its admittedly already rumpled state when he had first entered it. But he had a job to do and plants would not understand what was expected of them unless they were placed within an environment that reflected those expectations.

And so he was doing a little bit of sprucing. Not much, mind. He wasn’t interested in cleaning. But all of the dust had to go. And the little salt crystals fusing the bottoms of all of the pots to their places was keeping him up nights. And might as well move the furniture around a bit to give all the best light to his new charges.

He was growling menacingly at a stunned spider plant as he considered how best to work the massive purple succulent closer to the window without detracting from the view, when he heard Mr. Fell shut the back door.

Mr. Fell, the bloody wizard. Crowley always had terrible luck with romance.

But it happened, he got all fluttery on someone so laughably impossible for him it was painful. And now it was time to pull himself together and get over it. They’d only met a few times before he found out. It shouldn’t be that hard to get over at all really.

Then he heard a gasp from the doorway and turned.

The Wizard Aziraphale looked stricken, and not in a pleasant way. His hand was pressed to the middle of his chest as if he were worried about the function of his heart and his mouth was open in shock.

“What is going on here?”

Crowley looked around, “Tending to the plants.”

“But, but, you’ve completely moved the room around! And what have you done to the shelves!”

Crowley was very confused now, “I dusted a bit. Look, you never said I couldn’t shift things about-“

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“‘Please do whatever you must to take care of the poor dears.’ Is what you said-“

The wizard sniffed and frowned at the wall.

“- And most of these,” Crowley jabbed a hand around the room, “Where in the complete wrong place. And I’ve had to repot nearly all of them. Root bound to within an inch of their pathetic,” he snarled this word at the plants, “Lives. I have no idea how they’d survived as long as they had except that this is a bloody magic house! So, yeah... I moved the room.”

Aziraphale huffed and looked back at Crowley, “Well, you’ve moved it all wrong! How am I to get decent reading light with my chair in that drafty corner. I can’t be reading by lamplight in the middle of the afternoon. It’s just not going to work!”

Hours later, battles had been fought, compromises found over a field of blood, and Crowley had had to move the succulents up to the window of the little half bath just off the hallway to make room for Aziraphale’s chair to be moved closer to the window.

And with the last shove to get the chair perfectly aligned with the window, Crowley left Aziraphale and headed up to his room. He absolutely did not look back at where the wizard stood on the other side of the chair with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a bright, pink flush at his face and neck.Aziraphale had been aggravating and just very distracting throughout the whole process. And Crowley was making a quick exit because he wasn’t sure if he was going to smog him or hit him if he stayed any longer.

And by the time he got up to the little room at the end of the hallway, he was crawling on his belly in snake form, hissing the whole way. The door opened itself for him and he immediately slithered beneath the bed, wedging himself between his black leather purse and a moldering stack of books.

There he loomed and brooded and flicked his tongue out at the empty air until he eventually cooled down a bit and made his way to the sunny spot on the window sill and fell into an exhausted sleep.

But later that evening, Crowley was awakened by a gentle tapping on his bedroom door. He shifted a bit and flicked his tail over his face but otherwise did not move.

The knocking stopped.

Crowley was easing headfirst back into a warm, languid dream that didn’t include stubborn, fussy wizards and their annoyingly adorable pouting faces when he heard something.

Crowley slid his head slowly out of the center of his coil and peered over the windowsill.

Someone had slid a piece of paper beneath the door.

Crowley groaned, determined not to be curious about that piece of paper and returned his head to the sunny, warm sill.

But he did not reach sleep again.

And in a few more moments, Crowley was trudging over to that bloody slip of paper on human feet. He hadn’t had this curse for long, but he’d already decided that he’d make the best of it until he figured out how to break it. He’d already asked Aziraphale if he knew how and the wizard had just sighed and apologized, because, no unfortunately, he did not know that he could help with that.

So it was up to Crowley alone. Well, that wasn’t so unusual.

Crowley bent down and picked up the paper, bringing it up for inspection.

He recognized Warlock’s irregular handwriting immediately, the ink splotched and smeared.

It said: “Nanny, there is a shop in Southhaven that has crepes. I want to try these crepes for lunch because they also have ice cream. Love, Warlock.”

Well, Crowley thought, blinking at the paper.

By the time he had gotten to the bottom of the stairs, he had a pretty good idea who had told Warlock about this crepe shop that also had ice cream. But he could also admit that it was a game well played because he was physically incapable of saying no to a request from Warlock. Especially one delivered as a meticulously handwritten note and slipped under his door.

Well played, you bastard, Crowley thought.

What had he been thinking, assuming that the beauty and brilliance of Aziraphale’s appearance was all there was to him.

And what was he thinking now that he couldn’t quite fight back an appreciative grin.

Until he reached the bottom of the stairs and found them waiting for him. Then, mercifully, he was able to find a bit of a scowl for the wizard.

“Alright, let’s be off then,” Crowley said, gathering his coat and his hat from the hook by the door.

“This is lovely,” Aziraphale said, putting on his own coat and getting it properly settled about his shoulders, “This time of year they have the most scrumptious blueberries. Though Warlock tells me he is more partial to peanut butter cookies. Which they have, of course, and they are just the correct amount of buttery to melt on your mouth. A really think you’ll love them,” he addressed the last part to Warlock as Crowley fussed with the boy’s hat and scarf, making sure his ears were covered.

Crowley missed his Bentley as they walked through the magical back door and into the bright sunshine and soft, cool breeze of the Southhaven shop overlooking the river. He wondered how it was doing, lost somewhere in the wastes. If the birds had shat on it and if there were any mice nesting up inside it.

He didn’t remember too much about the walk to the crepe shop as he fought down a roiling anxiety about his car he couldn’t hope to help just now. He trailed along behind them and tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. It was just a car. Warlock and himself were doing alright. And that alone was more of a miracle than he could have hoped for. He was more reasonable than this. It was just a car.

But then he felt a warm hand on his elbow.

“Are you alright, dear?”

He looked up into bright blue eyes, tight at the corners with worry.

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Why wouldn’t I be. Is this the place?”

Aziraphale sighed and looked up at the little cafe they’d wandered up to, “It is. But we don’t have to go today, if you don’t want to,” Crowley could see how hard it was for Aziraphale to say those words, but those blue eyes were back on him and they did not believe Crowley’s lies for an instant.

“We’ve come all the way here. What are we doing going all the way back? And Warlock’s got his heart set on it. You going to deny the boy? That’s a bit heartless, wizard.”

Aziraphale puffed a bit,” That’s not- of course I... Alright, Crowley. We’ll go in. But we will be having words later.”

Crowley grinned at him, already planning how to get out of said word having. Because as much fun as that sounded, he wasn’t about to tell Aziraphale what exactly he had been moping about. They had already had a row about pay a few days back. Aziraphale had actually wanted to pay him a wage as well as lodging. But the very thought of being on the payroll of the man who made Crowley’s heart do all of these odd things turned Crowley’s stomach, so he’d insisted on food and lodgings only. It was actually one of the few arguments they’d had that Crowley could say he’d won.

“That’s fine, Aziraphale. Just fine. Let’s get on then.”

That got Aziraphale bustling them into the restaurant, talking about syrups and whipped cream with the sort of relish most people saved for talking about trips to tropical islands.

But when he reached the threshold of the restaurant, Crowley stopped.

Because he’d forgotten something.

But a man and his daughter had been sitting at one of the tables outside the shop and had glanced up at Crowley as he passed. And then their eyes had widened.

As Crowley stood there, staring into the restaurant, he could hear the sounds of their shoes as they hurried away.

His eyes. He’d forgotten about his eyes.

Those horrible, sickening yellow eyes. That everyone could see now that he’d left the Library.

How could he forget. How could he dare to come out here. He was out here terrifying all of these people and he needed to leave. He needed to leave, right this moment. He didn’t belong here. They were all so happy and normal and he was-

“Oh, bloody skies, I forgot. I am so sorry, Crowley. Come right this way, dear. Hold on tight, Warlock.”

Then Crowley was pulled into a warm, oh so warm hug, and his feet were no longer touching the ground.

Wind buffeted around his ears, at his hair, and about his ankles. But he was warm and being held tight by strong arms.

Then the light dimmed a bit and he felt his feet touch down on cobble stones.

“Nanny?” Warlock sounded a bit frightened. That was enough for Crowley to get his wobbly knees under control and find Warlock’s face, hovering in front of him beside Aziraphale’s, “Are you alright? What are you scared of?”

When Crowley didn’t manage to say anything, a hand slid up the side of Crowley’s face, cupping his cheek, “I’m sorry, dear. We have you. No one but us to see your lovely eyes. You’re alright.”

Warlock echoed the wizard, “You’re alright.”

Crowley suddenly blinked at both of them and choked a bit on his breath, pushing his hands against Aziraphale’s chest.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just needed a bit of air. Just... give me a minute.”

Aziraphale’s arms eased from around him and Crowley staggered back a few steps until he was leaning against the wall of the alley they were in.

And there he took very careful breathes for several very long minutes, not looking at either of them.

Then Aziraphale took a half step closer.

“It was very thoughtless of me, Crowley, but I got carried away and forgot I had meant to give you these. Had them lying about someplace and thought they’d look so very pretty on you. I do hope you like them.”

Crowley looked down at what he held in his hand and his eyes widened at the most dashing pair of dark-tinted glasses he had ever seen. They were somehow perfect and exactly what he would have chosen for himself, if he’d had the wherewithal to think of it.

He looked up at the wizard, mouth open but no words coming out. Sounds perhaps, but not words.

Aziraphale smiled a sad shadow of his usual, “Would you try them on for me?”

Crowley’s hand was reaching out obediently without him ever deciding to do so. And then he was slipping the glasses onto his face and marveling at the way he drew the next breath more easily as he looked out at the world through the cover of the lenses.

Aziraphale’s face was scrunched up strangely as he looked at him. Crowley thought perhaps he did not like the way they looked, but then he heard the tight pinch in his voice as he said, “They look lovely, my dear. Very... you.”

Crowley’s chest was doing strange things again, but this time he wasn’t sure they were good somethings. Because he did not like the sound of Aziraphale’s voice right now at all. Because it sounded... pained somehow.

“Sorry I ruined your outing,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale tutted and sniffed a bit, “Now, none of that. Thank you for coming out with me. We had a lovely walk but I do think its going to rain soon, so its all for the best.”

“I wanted to try them,” Crowley said softly, “The crepes.”

“It’s ok, Nanny,” Warlock said, appearing at Crowley’s side to wrap his arms around Crowley’s waist, “I’ll run over and get them in boxes for us.”

“An excellent idea, Warlock. Well done,” Aziraphale said, patting Warlock on the head.

Then he looked back at Crowley and his smile was closer to the real thing this time, “Let’s go home. We’ll get the crepes to go. I really think you will enjoy their blackberries.”

There was a hand reaching out, a bit of lace flowing out of the sleeve at the wrist. The fingers plump and strong. They would feel so soft, he already knew.

Crowley reached out, heart thumping a bit more loudly than normal against his chest, and let the wizard pulled him away from the wall he was leaning on.

“Did this thing used to have a porch?”

Aziraphale finished a sip of his tea and set it back down on its saucer, “No, but I found my rocking chair the other day and thought it would be nice to have a sit outside from time to time.”

“It is rather nice,” Crowley said as he watched Warlock running around playing something. Crowley would be getting up to join him soon.

The day was unusually bright and warm, fluffy white clouds rolling by in a stately and orderly fashion, just barely brushing the tops of the hills.

“I might not keep it when the snows come. Haven’t decided. I could magic the porch to not gather snow, but snow is rather stubborn about getting on porches and usually it just isn’t worth the energy. Do you think you’d like to keep it this winter?”

Crowley made a little humming noise and looked over at the clutter of plants he had dragged out to clutter the porch with them, to show them the outdoors they’d never see again if they didn’t keep in shape over the winter, he’d said.

“Not a fan of cold. More of an ocean and hot sand person, myself.”

Aziraphale just stared at him for a moment and then stammered, “Yes- yes, I rather- the beach is lovely. With the,” he waved a hand in the air for a blink, “Outfits.”

Crowley turned and grinned at the wizard, “Well now, like the outfits, do you?”

Aziraphale blustered and rolled his eyes up at the clouds, “Not for me, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But everyone seems to be having such a good time at the beach. And sunlight is very healthy in moderation.”

“Indeed.”

“Oh stop that, you fiend.”

Crowley didn’t stop grinning. But he did laugh. Which was the sort Aziraphale couldn’t help but join in on.

Warlock stopped his game to look back at the library and the happy sound of the two adults enjoying each other’s company.

It was all beginning to make sense now.

Warlock studied the ancient manuscript, searching it’s faded text for the secret to restoring his people’s sleeping guardian to life. It looked like he’d have to be going on a long journey soon to collect the pieces of the amulet that had been scattered to the edges of the world by the invaders.

But first, he need to gather up the things he and his crew would need to survive the journey.

Closing the book, Warlock scrambled out of his fort and almost bumped directly into Mr. Fell. Well, actually the wizard Aziraphale. But he didn’t look much like a wizard so it was difficult to remember that.

Overall, Warlock was alright with Aziraphale. He always had snacks when Warlock asked for them, and plenty of weird things to say if you asked the right questions, and he gave him that weird pendant the other day and told Warlock he’d know when it was time to open it. And strangely enough, Warlock hadn’t yet had any urge to do anything beyond study the coiling engraving on its front. It was a very cool gift though. Old he could tell. Interesting.

Aziraphale wasn’t always terribly interesting. But the library was. So he didn’t mind the wizard’s fussiness because he could tell Aziraphale was always making a careful effort to be kind, even when you could tell he was thinking about something else entirely.

And he got on alright with Nanny.

So, yeah, the wizard was alright in Warlock’s book.

“Hello,” Warlock said.

“Hello, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, setting a little tray of tea things on the roof of Warlock’s fort, which used to be a table, “You wouldn’t happen to know where my Draconis Collins manuscript has gone off to, do you?”

Warlock looked at him blankly.

“It has a great big green dragon on the front cover.”

“Oh! Well, yeah, I have that,” he’d just been reading it, in fact. It was crucial to his current quest and therefore very valuable, “What you gonna trade me for it?”

Aziraphale frowned at him for a moment and then got a thoughtful look on his face.

Then the wizard smiled and lifted his hands, “I know your Nanny isn’t much for being paid. Says room and board is enough for him. But I know a shrewd businessman when I see one. With a discerning eye for gold,” his hand flashed beside Warlock’s head, “And magic,” he said, drawing a gold coin back into sight with a beaming smile.

The coin had some sort of feathery snake imprinted into the side and was the biggest coin Warlock had ever seen. Obviously ancient treasure. No doubt about it. Even if the trick just now had been rubbish.

Warlock gave the coin a shrewd look and then nodded, grabbing it from Aziraphale’s fingers and going into the fort for the book.

“Ah, very good,” Aziraphale said, taking the book when Warlock emerged, “Now, since we are successful business partners, I wonder if I might be able to interest you in a further business venture, young Warlock.”

Warlock shrugged and nodded his head, “What’s the venture?”

“I have a bit of an issue, you see. Beelzebub is a very powerful demon. Very tetchy, as you may have noticed.”

Warlock nodded emphatically at this.

“I am worried that they are also becoming a bit lonely, you understand. And you being a scholar of all things and peoples, sinister and fearsome, I hoped I might be able to employ you in the care and friendship of the demon Beelzebub.”

Warlock’s eyebrows went way up at this. Beelzebub was indeed fearsome. But also fascinating. They could look like a horribly boil covered person with a scowl like a thundercloud. Or they could blast apart into a cloud of flies and zoom around the library. Warlock had already spent several rainy days studying the demon and quickly come to a conclusion.

Beelzebub was really really cool.

But letting on that the job was something Warlock was enthusiastically alright with taking on wasn’t the way pirates bargained. So he crossed his arms over his chest and said, “What’s the pay.”

Aziraphale gave Warlock a shrewd look and said, very seriously, “What pay would be fair. I’m a bit new to the demon befriending business.”

Warlock looked up at the dusty ceiling for a long moment and then said, “I’d have to make at least...a hundred a week.”

Aziraphale straightened up and huffed a bit, “Well, I... I have a household to care for. You’ll have us out on the street! I couldn’t possibly pay more than fifty a week.”

“Seventy five or your demon will just have to stay sad and friendless forever,” Warlock said sternly, “Up to you.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands and looked about as if for help, “You, sir, drive a hard bargain. Alright, I suppose seventy five a week is a bit steep but worth it for the aid of such a helpful demon. And you have a family of your own to care for. Your Nanny will be needing new shoes soon, I think.”

Warlock nodded seriously as Aziraphale pulled the agreed upon coins out of his trouser pocket, “And some gloves for the plant work.”

“Oh, that is true, “Aziraphale said with an answering serious nod, “Can’t be working without the correct equipment. though that does sound like something an employer should be providing. So why don’t you leave those up to me.”

Warlock carefully counted the coins and then slipped them into his pocket, “Alright. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Aziraphale nodded and gave Warlock’s hand a good shake.

Then he began talking about what to have for lunch. Warlock made a few suggestions, but really he was making plans. It wouldn’t be an easy task. Befriending a demon. Maybe Adam and the gang would have some suggestions. They weren’t even remotely human themselves after all.

It was beginning to snow outside.

Crowley had just started on a new sweater for Warlock, all in greens and black. He was sitting in the room with the big window that he had long since begun to think of as the sitting room, because that’s mostly all anyone did in it.

It was also the room where most of the plants had ended up.

That pitiful pothos had been saved from its long slow death sentence in the upstairs hallway and placed in a shady corner of the room, beside a huge mint plant in a steel pot with runes etched into its surface. Crowley wasn’t sure what was going on with the mint plant, but Aziraphale had insisted on making the new pot when Crowley brought up that it needed repotting.

The smug bastard of an ivy had stayed in the upstairs window only because Crowley hadn’t successfully extracted it from the walls yet. In answer to his efforts to prune it, it had begun sprouting up all over the library. There was a bit coming up out of the floor boards in his bedroom that he had tried and failed to set on fire yesterday.

Not a big fire. Just a bit of a fire. Aziraphale had definitely overreacted.

Glancing up at the wizard, Crowley glanced at the book he was holding. Something with a dragon on the cover. It took him a moment to read the cover, as his eyes had never taken to reading no matter what glasses he wore.

He looked out at the snow and didn’t quite shiver. The chill of the day was radiating from the window just a bit, but apparently Aziraphale liked it that way and had insisted there wasn’t a single spell he was willing to cast on it.

Which was why the next day Crowley had claimed Aziraphale’s electric blanket he had accidentally left on Crowley’s chair. He was curled up in it now, delicious warmth about his shoulders, down his back and all the way down to his toes. Some days, he was so fond of the blanket, he couldn’t stay awake. Not that he minded that at all, really. A good snuggle and sleep was sometimes exactly what the day called for.

He was considering moving over to the couch to sprawl out a bit when Warlock came into the room, most of the end of a broom tied on top of his head and a blanket tied as a cape around his neck.

“Nanny, do you have a,” Warlock made some kind of gesture with his hand, “A... stirrer?”

“A wisk?” Aziraphale asked.

Warlock snapped his fingers, “That’s the one.”

“Second drawer down on the left in the kitchen.”

Warlock was about to turn and leave when Crowley said, “If you’re going out, you will wear all your warm things. And be back before sundown.”

Warlock rolled his eyes, “Yes, Nanny,”. Before rushing back out.

“That scarf you made for him looked very warm. And you have a lovely eye for color, my dear,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley refused to blush at the compliment, “It’s just a scarf.”

“You know, everyone needs a fluffy warm scarf now that the weather is getting so chill. With a hat and gloves to match. I saw a lovely skein at the shops the other day. Beige and blue. And so very soft.”

Crowley let his work settle down onto his lap as he frowned at the wizard’s hopeful look.

“Alright,” he finally caved, “I’ll make you a whole kit of cold weather crochet. But it won’t be anything fancy.”

Aziraphale beamed, “Really? Oh, that’s so thoughtful dear.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and refused to blush with pleasure at the smile Aziraphale was blinding him with. And he wasn’t about to smile at the pleased little wiggle Aziraphale did in his chair before settling back into his reading.

“Do you like it?”

Crowley wobbled a bit on the step ladder and pulled a hand out of the hanging potted fern he was wrangling. He twisted a bit to look down at Warlock.

“Do I like what, dear?”

“The blanket? The one that heats up?”

Crowley glanced at the sitting room door, “You mean Aziraphale’s heated blanket? Yeah, I like it alright. Why?”

“Aziraphale’s blanket? He bought that for you. The other day when we went out for more potatoes and nuggets.”

Crowley blinked behind his glasses at Warlock, not sure what to say.

“Did he keep it for himself?” Warlock was frowning now, “But he said he was worried you wouldn’t be warm enough with the snowy days. I helped him pick it out. I wanted to get black but he said that dark greenish color would match with your hair nice and I know how you like to be matching so we went with it.”

Now Crowley really didn’t know what to say and he could feel his face heating up.

But he managed, “That’s was very thoughtful of the both of you. I like it very much. Thank you, dear.”

Warlock seemed pleased with that answer and scampered off. Leaving Crowley to hiss curses at the shivering fern as he got the fertilizing spikes all settled to his liking as the blush rose all the way up to his ears.

He wouldn’t be able to curl up in the blanket without thinking of Aziraphale now. Not that they didn’t spend nearly every evening sitting near each other anyway. But now Crowley would be sitting near him wrapped in a deliciously warm blanket the wizard picked out to look good against his hair.

“Bloody thoughtful, crafty, bastard wizard.”

So Beelzebub did not like muffins.

Warlock frowned at the little plate of muffins, completely baffled. Raspberry muffins. Raspberry. Warlock was beginning to think there was something very very wrong with this demon.

But he’d made a deal with Aziraphale and he was going to carry through with his promise. Besides, he’d already spent the money he’d earned on brand new capes for himself and the Them.

They’d been playing Princes all week because of it. Pepper was the current King Prince and they all had to obey her every command until the peasants revolted. The peasants being Dog and Turpin.

But now it was snowing out and the sun hadn’t seemed to come out for a moment all day. Warlock worried a bit about his friends. But there had been bad weather before and none of them had done more than shrug about it.

He didn’t really like being around them in weather anyway. He’d once been so absorbed in playing with them that he hadn’t noticed a storm approaching until the lightning struck. And every single one of the children’s eyes had...

Done something. Hadn’t turned red or anything. Just gone funny looking so bad it made his skin crawl. But then the lightning went away and they were back to normal, watching him very carefully.

He’d run home very quickly. But the next day had been bright and sunny and he had decided to forget the whole thing. They had a lot of fun playing.

But he’d been inside all day today and after he’d pracised some math with Nanny and then read a bit of a book, they’d played some games until lunch. Then Aziraphale had pulled out a deck of funny looking cards and told their fortunes.

Nanny had gone all pink when Aziraphale told him he’d find his true self in the arms of another. Warlock had thought it a very weird fortune. Not at all as cool as how Warlock was supposedly going to carry a precious treasure and use it in battle to obliterate a terrible foe. That sounded wicked cool.

Which had inspired his next game of treasure hunting through the cobwebby catacombs of the library shelves. Which mostly just turned his hair grey with dust and made him sneeze a lot.

He’d been sneaking past the door to the sitting room, pausing a moment to check in on Nanny and found him lying on the couch in his heating blanket while Aziraphale read to him in a soft, deep voice. He’d thought Nanny looked very relaxed and comfortable, there on the couch, watching the snow fall outside the large window as the fire place murmured beside them. Warlock liked that he was comfortable here. Nanny wasn’t very good at being comfortable places.

And the reading was good too. Nanny loved stories, but his eyes weren’t good at reading for very long. Warlock wondered how Aziraphale had gotten Nanny to tell him about that. Nanny hadn’t told anyone but Warlock about that. Perhaps the wizard had just figured it out himself. Warlock had the feeling Aziraphale was much more clever than he let on.

Just then Aziraphale had caught his eye and, without pausing his reading, given Warlock a little smile.

Warlock had nodded back and awkwardly continued on his way.

Until he’d stumbled upon Beelzebub perched on a pile of books, staring out of a high, dusty window at the storm.

Warlock had paused, surprised to see them. The library wasn’t that big, but somehow, the demon was never really around. And Warlock was a little afraid of them. Just a little.

But he’d taken a step forward anyway. And begun talking to the demon.

Who hadn’t really seemed to mind talking to him, even if they maybe found it unbearably boring. But they were bored about everything, Warlock suspected.

“You don’t have to take baths?” Warlock asked.

“Do I smell like I have to take baths?” Beelzebub droned back.

Warlock didn’t know quite how to take that question so he said, “What are you doing up on that stack of books? Can you see anything out there?”

The demon had studied him for a moment and then said, “I guess all you can see is the dark and the snow.”

Yet again, Warlock quite know how to take that answer.

“You can see more?”

“What do you want, little person.”

“Well... I was thinking... maybe you could play with me?”

The demon grimaced.

“Whatever you want to play,” Warlock rushed to add. He had gotten to the point in the day where he was becoming desperately bored.

Beelzebub opened their mouth with a sneer and Warlock could hear the sharp refusal coming from miles away.

But then their expression halted, and seemed to melt at the edges a bit.

Then a terrible thing happened.

Beelzebub eased back until they were slouched against the wall.

And they smiled.

The sight of it made Warlock’s belly go all wobbly. Not because it was ugly. The teeth were clean and healthy looking. And, other than the boils, everything about the face was normal.

But it still wasn’t a nice smile.

It was like when Adam and the Them smiled sometimes.

Beelzebub had pulled something out if their coat pocket.

Warlock took a step closer to get a look at it, but the demon had to jump down from their perch before he could recognize it.

It was a little silver and red air horn.

“I can think of a game or two,” they said promisingly.

Warlock looked down at the horn and grinned so fast it hurt.

“Not another moment, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, snapping his scarf about his neck, “If the rude fly is going to torment us like this, they can keep an eye on Warlock while the two of use take a break.”

Crowley couldn’t really find any reason to argue with that. The two of them had been nothing less than complete poltergeists for the last two days. If Crowley had one more nap interrupted because he was covered in flies or because Warlock had decided to sound that bloody air horn near him again he was going to need his heart restarted.

And hopefully not by the means usual to stories including magic, he thought, glancing over at Aziraphale.

“What has gotten into the two of them all of a sudden anyway,” Crowley said, grabbing for his own coat.

Aziraphale made a few noncommittal noises as he pulled Crowley’s scarf off the rack for him. And then, to Crowley’s complete startlement, slipped the scarf around Crowley’s neck himself.

Crowley held helplessly still as Aziraphale frowned down at the scarf, tucking its ends into Crowley’s coat with meticulous care before patting him on the chest and smiling at him.

“There you are, my dear,” he said, before turning toward the back door.

Crowley stood there on the kitchen rug, arms out at his sides, mouth hanging open, staring at the wizard’s back.

That wizard was going to be the death of him. He just knew it.

And he wasn’t going to be anything other than powerless to even want to stop it.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, taking his hand off the door knob and spinning back to a Crowley only beginning to find his composure again, “I don’t want to use that door for this trip. Its such a nice day outside.”

Crowley made a few odd noises and then managed, “Where are we going, anyway.”

“We’re going to a concert! In the capitol!” Aziraphale answered, waggling his fingers in the air a bit.

Crowley raised a brow, “That’s a bit of a walk.”

“Oh, well, we’d only walk a little bit. Didn’t you have a car? That pretty black one. So very nice.”

Crowley nodded, “Don’t have it now, though.”

Aziraphale frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Lost it,” Crowley said, hands finding their way into his coat pockets, “On the way here. Had to leave it behind. No choice, really.”

“Really? But that’s such a waste. It was such a splendid car. I could tell you took such good care of it,” Aziraphale then raised his chin a bit, “If we’ve lost it, we’ll just have to find it again. I’m sure it isn’t far.”

“What? Aziraphale, that’s not-“

“Possible? Oh, I think you’ll find that it is. I am, after all, a wizard of some renown.”

Crowley made a few noises at that, but Aziraphale had already opened the door onto a bright clear day on a snow covered waste. He swept a hand out in front of him and a soft breeze blew against the snow until it revealed a little path of large, flat stones, the sort you’d find on a garden path. It trailed out, just wide enough for two to walk side by side comfortably. A grey line leading out into the snow until it disappeared beyond the hilltop.

Aziraphale turned back to Crowley, his eyes large and guileless, asking Crowley to indulge him. Just one more time.

Crowley sighed, heart in his throat he might find the Bentley again. And because Aziraphale was looking at him like Crowley was the one who could give him the stars. It was too bright to look at and too warm to turn away from.

He stepped up to the doorway beside the wizard and crooked his arm for Aziraphale to take.

“It is a rather nice day,” Crowley admitted.

And like a clockwork Crowley never tired of, Aziraphale gave him a wide, pleased smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling and his white teeth flashing as he took Crowley’s arm.

“It is rather, isn’t it,” Aziraphale said as they stepped out onto the magically dry footpath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t help myself adding so much fluff. This ship and anything Miyazaki inspired is so fluffy by nature, i think. Even when it isn’t. 
> 
> Hope you liked! I adore comments and making new friends. So, [come visit me on tumblr!](http://neverwaswise.tumblr.com/)


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